


Clouds and Colors

by Amicia



Series: Sometimes a Fox [2]
Category: Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic
Genre: Adventure, Consensual Sex, F/M, Family, Love, Mild Smut, Romance, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-03
Updated: 2016-12-18
Packaged: 2018-05-11 11:51:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 39
Words: 91,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5625607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amicia/pseuds/Amicia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>Clouds come floating into my life, no longer to carry rain or usher storm, but to add color to my sunset sky. ~Rabindranath Tagore</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Following the demolition of the Star Cabal, Former Imperial Agent Cipher Nine and her husband Vector Hyllus finally have time for a honeymoon - but even the looming threat of the Star Cabal's remnants pales in comparison to a challenge she had never thought she'd face: meeting her new in-laws.  A sequel to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/4482485/chapters/10190162">Drones</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Introductory Linguistics

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome back, friends and readers! For the sequel to Drones, I'm switching up my style a little, aiming for shorter chapters and a [much] shorter work overall. Perhaps a little bit more smut; I could stand to work on that.

Vector Hyllus set aside the datapad that held the work-in-progress that was his memoirs and stretched his arms above his head before rising from his seat in the cargo hold of the _Phantom._ Although he could have, had he wanted, certainly used the work space in the single room that comprised the captain's quarters, and which he had every right to enter by virtue of his sincere but officially unsanctioned marriage to the ship's captain, he nonetheless found he preferred still to recourse to his comfortable old spot among the crates in the cargo bay. It had been his spot, and then their spot, long before the captain's quarters had been, and, truth be told, every entity – even one indelibly tethered to a hive mind – needed a hint of personal space once in a while.

 

He'd had enough personal space for now.

 

He emerged from the cargo hold and directed his steps towards the bridge, where his keen senses, enhanced beyond the capabilities of ordinary humanity by the biochemical and genetic alterations he had undergone when he joined the Killik Oroboro Colony on Alderaan, effortlessly informed him of the location of his wife. Automatically, Vector registered the whereabouts of his crew-mates: the distant bell-like clang in the belly of the ship indicating that Toovee, the ship's droid, was in the galley busily concocting their next meal; a muffled male voice and the faint waft of Mirialan spices suggesting that Doctor Eckard Lokin was either helping or interfering with the process; the electric hum of the holonet as Scorpio, the assassin droid, used it to study the people of the Empire; the tones of Ensign Raina Temple's melodium, somewhat inexpertly played, stumbling from the port-side bunkroom, breaking off abruptly with an injured exclamation and a laugh in response to some insulting comment from Kaliyo Djannis, the Rattataki anarchist who let no one remain immune from her acerbic wit for long.

 

It was surprising, really, how quickly people, no matter what the race or age, could cope with the upheaval incurred by stress – both its appearance and its abrupt vanishing could be equally disruptive. Given the easy air about the vessel, the lazy melody of its casual harmony, it was almost unbelievable to consider that it had only been a few days, just a handful of hours, since they had collectively faced their most taxing trial: the forceful invasion and dismantling of the Star Cabal, the secret society that had been bent on the destruction of the Empire and the Republic, as well as the Force-sensitive orders that adhered to each.

 

The struggle had been taxing on no one more severely than on Paha. One-time Imperial Agent Cipher Nine, she was now nameless and faceless to almost the entire galaxy beyond this ship, and still half a mystery to most of those who were as yet on it. Except for him. Vector paused in the bulkhead hatch of the bridge, and took a moment to drink in her aura with his senses, his onyx-black eyes sweeping over her azure skin, vibrant and alive with the pulse of the blood he could see coursing through her veins, his ears catching the melody of her breathing and the quiet, steady drumbeat of her heart, counterpointing his own with harmonic perfection, his nose filling with her native scent of some unnameable exotic spice, piquant and cool and smooth, hungering him to taste her lips and neck and other parts of her, to take her in hand to let his sense of touch be satisfied, if just for a little while.

 

Her bright scarlet eyes, sparkling like flame gems, fell on him as she turned her head, sensing his presence behind her, and her smile beamed at him. She was looking better, healthier, more whole, day by leisurely day, as the parsecs passed lazily on their voyage to Nar Shaddaa. On the surface, of course, she looked fine: Doctor Lokin's admirable skill had patched her up with scarcely a scar left behind after the torture she had suffered on Corellia at the hands of the Star Cabal. But Vector had been a first-hand witness to the brutality, and since his absolute destruction of its perpetrators, he was the only person in the galaxy other than Paha herself who knew what had gone on in that room. The only one, other than her, who knew what she had suffered, and how it had broken her. Not broken past mending – but enough that she had feared that outcome, and enough that the marks were still upon her spirit, resilient as it was. And even those were starting to fade. He returned her smile, a gentle but genuine lifting of his lips that shone in the dark depths of his eyes.

 

“Xaastu!” Paha declared decidedly.

 

Vector put his head slightly to one side, puzzled, but amused, and heartened considerably by the upbeat and playful tone of her voice. Stepping into the bridge, he rested a hand on the back of her captain's chair and looked down at her with a raised eyebrow.

 

“Who's a Xaastu? Or what's a Xaastu do?” he inquired.

 

“Not a who, a what. And nothing; it just sits there in space,” Paha chuckled. “Otherwise, it would be awfully difficult to land on.”

 

“Putting two and two together,” Vector replied, leaning down to look at the holographic star chart displayed above the main bridge console that had been the focus of her attention before he interrupted it, “we're guessing it's a planet.”

 

“Got it in one.”

 

“We've never heard of it,” he remarked, turning his head ostensibly to give her a look of curiosity. The movement brought his face closer to hers, letting him catch the scent of her hair more clearly, and the tempo of his heart tripped a little as it sped in response.

 

She smiled, not entirely unaware of his pretense, and she angled her head slightly as she raised her chin a hair, exposing the long blue trail of her neck between her ear and her collar. “That's not surprising. Most people haven't. But it is remote, and temperate, and largely uninhabited.”

 

“A planet of our own, just as you promised,” Vector observed appreciatively. His voice was tantalizingly close to her ear, and if his voice were this close, Paha thought with a pleasant little curl below her stomach, then his lips weren't that much further. “Where is it?”

 

“There.” She pointed to a dim and unprepossessing little dot on the star map, lost on the fringes of the unclaimed Outer Rim, and, tilting her face up to him with a bit of a smirk, said something in her native tongue.

 

“Hm,” Vector mused, so close beside her that she could feel the rumble of his voice on her skin and the brush of her hair against her cheek as it wavered from the motion of his jaw. “We've noticed that, with very rare exceptions, you only use Chenuh when you are swearing, or,” he added, his lips now ghosting over the divinely sensitive spot on her neck just behind her ear, “when you are being very... _passionate._ ”

 

Paha shivered. “Sometimes,” she said, sucking in a breath, “it's both.”

 

“And which is this?” he asked lowly, nuzzling her earlobe.

 

“Mm,” Paha muffled her initial response as she caught her lower lip between her teeth. “The first, sad to say. Although I'm very much open to assisting your cultural education with the second. If you are interested.”

 

“Oh, we _are_ interested,” he breathed. Her fragrance grew stronger and he inhaled its provocative scent, reveling in how it warmed him to his core. He could taste her skin below his lips, sleek and sweet with the barest tang of salt, and he let the hand that was not propped on the chair descend lightly on her knee. “Extremely so. Although... we're still curious about the translation of _this_ particular phrase.”

 

Paha's smile gleamed an extra dash of sauciness and she slipped her hand around the back of his thigh, tracing his muscles northward with a relaxed deliberation. “ _This_ particular phrase is just how we refer to some place in the middle of nowhere.”

 

Vector shifted his weight, pressing back into her hand as he let his own skim up her leg, his sensitive fingertips detecting the delicate tremble of the flesh beneath. “You make it sound so innocuous. What's the real translation?”

 

She made a sound that fell somewhere between a delighted gasp, as his hand reached the apex of her thigh, and a giggle, as she opened her mouth to answer. “Forty-three parsecs rimward of Ord Canbumfuck.”

 

The laughter that erupted from his throat spiraled around her warmly, washing over her skin and entwining in her hair and causing his hand to twitch between her legs in a highly appealing manner as it shook him. “We should've guessed; Chenuh has always impressed us with its extraordinary specificity,” he chortled.

 

“Oh, we Chiss have a word for _everything_ ,” Paha assured him roundly, gently tightening her hold on his behind. “Or if we don't, we can invent one.”

 

Vector felt his breath catch of its own volition, dropping his voice, husky with laughter and desire, into a soft growl against her throat. “Which we're willing to learn.”

 

“Starting with the passionate ones first, mm?” she suggested lasciviously, casting him a look of the most indecent kind, fanning the heat his rushing blood tingled through him. By way of answer, he tangled his fingers in the cropped hair on the back of her head and kissed her hungrily, drinking in the taste of her faint hum of pleasure as it vibrated in her throat.

 

“When does your bridge shift end?” he asked with a fair approximation of innocence when he released her, panting and squirming under the ministrations of his fingers against the canvas of her pants.

 

Her vermilion glance flicked to the bridge chronometer. “Scorpio will take over in fourteen minutes,” she answered precisely. She had actually forgotten that she was still on duty, and she gnawed at her lip. “Damn it all.”

 

“Then,” Vector vowed, his lips against her neck and his words tempting and beautiful in her ear, “we can expect our lesson in fifteen?”

 

A sigh and a little noise of deprivation escaped her as he drew his hand away, protesting the loss of his touch.

 

“Unless I can convince Scorpio to take over early.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. _Ord Canbumfuck_ : Where I live, we refer to just about every town or crossroads in the surrounding hinterlands as some variation on "Northeast Cuttybumfuck" - if we're being rather saucy about it. "Ord" is a Republic prefix to reference an "Ordnance/Regional Depot" that eventually was used somewhat more indiscriminately as a planetary title. There are some 5 dozen worlds that are named "Ord [Whatever]" (no, really, [this list](http://starwars.wikia.com/wiki/Ordnance/Regional_Depot) has 60, by my count), so just about everybody would be familiar with the naming convention.


	2. Important Things

“So, in sum, do what you want, go where you like, if you do anything illegal don't get caught, and I'll see you on Vaiken Spacedock in a month.” Paha's quick gaze swept over her crew and paused at the gleam in Vector's eye.

 

“And a half,” she added demurely before her face broke into an irrepressible grin. “Go on, get out of here. Go have some fun.”

 

Kaliyo smirked over her shoulder as she turned to tromp down the _Phantom_ 's ramp. “I thought blasting the snot out of those Cabal jerks _was_ the fun part. How am I supposed to beat that?”

 

“Oh, I'm sure something will fall into your lap, Kaliyo,” Paha returned easily. “Always does. Particularly if you've shot it first.”

 

Kaliyo snorted. “See ya, agent. Don't get into too much trouble without me.”

 

As the hatch closed behind her departing crew, Paha favored Vector with a sly smile. “And with that, the ship is ours.”

 

“Keeping Toovee on board this time?” Vector noted that the ship's droid had not been dismissed with the rest of the crew, as Paha had done on one earlier and particularly memorable occasion.

 

Paha made a neutral noise. “I debated that for a while. Toovee, or not Toovee? But living a month and a half on either my cooking or powdered military rations would likely be the death of us both, and I'm not going to ask _you_ to do all of that work, so... the droid stays.”

 

“No objection. We can think of other things we'd rather be doing than cooking.” Based on the look he tossed her, there was no mistaking the meaning or intent of his words, and she curled her toes into her boots in anticipation. A planet, all to themselves, and over a month to enjoy it. Life was perfect.

 

She arched a slender indigo eyebrow above her fiery eyes. “Welcome to your honeymoon, Mister Hyllus.”

 

\- - - -

 

 _Unerring beauty_. This was the initial phrase that sprang to Vector's mind unbidden as he leaned across the bridge consoles to catch his first glimpse of Xaastu, arrayed in gossamer clouds of white and pink that parted before the ship like veils of cobwebs and sunrise. Far below, scattered in beaded necklaces across a wine-dark sea, craggy mountains, worn half-smooth by the caress of time, lifted their lofty heads, crowned with tiaras of glaciers, and stretched their long-sloped shoulders to cradle narrow sunlit lakes in ancient, rocky hands.

 

As the _Phantom_ 's flight curved earthward under Paha's guidance, his vision gained clarity, revealing cliffs of stark white limestone interspersed with broad ledges of deep black basalt, all spattered with dense forests of thin and spire-like trees, auburn-fleshed and clad in green and yellow leaves, and flinging up their eager limbs, as if reaching to the sky for a lover's embrace.

 

“We have never seen such a place,” he said softly, nearly unable to tear his eyes away. Paha made no immediate answer; her attention was divided between the various informational displays on the bridge consoles and the more practical consideration of flight mechanics, but her pleasure and appreciation for his reaction hummed within her, and he heard it. He did not speak again, letting her concentrate and sensing she seemed to be heading for a particular location, or searching for something specific.

 

Presently, she found a situation that met with her approval, and dialed back the engine to expertly set the _Phantom_ on a narrow field of solid ground with a dull thump and the slightest of jostles.

 

“And this is Xaastu,” she said unnecessarily as Vector, turning from the view outside to cast an admiring look at the view within. She was brimming with excitement, and she was already out of her chair. “Would you like to take a look?”

 

By way of answer, he grabbed her hand and tugged her along with rapid steps, and she ran after him, laughing, carefree and childlike. They emerged from the ramp into a clearing of crisp-scented grasses and gleaming silver flowers on slender stalks with bright red leaves, dotted with low, flat couches of rock. Squat shrubs with thick, short trunks ringed the span of ground, one edge of which offered a clear view of the ocean beyond. The air was warm and sweet with the scents of natural things, things that were green and growing, and a stark contrast to the recent weeks of ships and space stations, of war and death and the metallic stink of blood. The vault of the sky glowed a luminous pale amethyst shade, crossed with the sails of the pink and white clouds, and the breezes passing through the groves of trees set them gently swaying, their leaves rustling like rain, punctuated by a sound like a soft swell of distant thunder as the flexible, hollow trunks struck lightly together.

 

“What do you think?” Paha asked archly. “Did I do well?”

 

Vector drew a long draught of the clean, clear air, closing his eyes and feeling how it swept through him – not just the breath, but the beauty, the grace of life, the dignity of nature, the generosity of love, everything that made it worthwhile for his spirit to remain bound to his body – and slid his arm around her, knowing exactly how far from him she stood without needing to rely on his vision.

 

“You did perfectly,” he answered, raising his black gaze to meet her scarlet one. “You always do.”

 

There were lines at the edges of her eyes, and almost imperceptible near her mouth, that sharpened ever so slightly as she gave a small, sorrowful shake of her head. “Not always,” she corrected him mildly.

 

Dismayed at his own thoughtless words, or her reaction to them, he pulled her tenderly against him, raising his other hand to press her to his shoulder. She was hard on herself, more apt to believe a criticism than a compliment, and quick to demur in the face of praise she viewed as inaccurate. It sometimes prompted him to be more creative in how he phrased himself, relying on all the delicacy of diplomatic language he had learned in his former life.

 

“Perfectly enough for _us_ ,” he clarified, drawing a soothing hand down her back. Paha did not answer; she was not one to shy from introspection, particularly when it came to her choices or her behavior, although he knew she was often cautious about plumbing the darker waters of her emotions too deeply. He knew as well as she what hazards lurked there, vestigial phantoms of monsters that had mangled her, inside and out. Little wonder she felt more comfortable with facts and truths. Half to keep her from gainsaying his approval a second time and half to dispel the reminders of her recent stresses, he quickly changed the subject.

 

“This planet – far from trade routes, far from the Cores, and far even from the spine of the Outer Rim,” Vector said. “Not a likely place either for leisure or for work. How did you come to know of it?”

 

Amusement rippled through her, raising his spirits as he watched hers lift. “It's a bit of a funny story,” she answered, her mouth quirking. “I was marooned here.”

 

Vector's brows shot up. “We're not sure if you're teasing us or merely surprising us. Details would help us decide.”

 

“Camp setup first,” she replied firmly. The sun was already gliding towards the distant horizon; evening close in pursuit. “We could sleep on the ship, but the air is so comfortable that we could stay outside and not even need the tent. If you don't mind roughing it.”

 

If he minded! He could think of nothing so desirable than to lay stretched and open to the night sky, with Paha beside him – or beneath him, or above him, or around him, or in any way with him – and to greet the morning sun with her in his arms as dawn's first light blushed her cheeks.

 

“But,” she added, her tone recovering its playful sauciness, “I most assuredly do want some sort of bed.”

 

A bit less than an hour later, Paha sat back on her heels and surveyed their work, mentally tallying their progress. A fire, burning brightly within a circle of protective stones, and the grass cleared around it. An ample stack of fuel, castoffs from the hollow trees and heavier shrubs. A log set aside by the fire as a seat to be shared, if their chosen seats on one of the flat slabs of basalt proved too hard, cold, or uncomfortable. Lamps in quantity and position to be at hand as needed. A sufficiently comfortable bed, made of cushions and rugs and blankets brought out from the cargo hold by Toovee, before he returned to the galley to prepare an evening meal. There were plenty of stores of food and water on the ship to suffice for two for the duration of their stay.

 

Paha made a satisfied nod. “I think that is everything.”

 

“Not quite,” Vector corrected mildly from where he stood a few meters away. “You have forgotten something – the most important thing.”

 

She looked at him in surprise, and he simply held out his hand to her. Mutely, she rose and went to him, and as she took his hand within both her own, she followed his eyes, pursuing his gaze to where the setting sun, unobserved by her, had embarked on the final stage of its plummet below the line of the horizon. Without a word, he tucked her within the security of his arms, her back against his chest and his cheek against her brow, and from the grassy cliff they stood and watched the hard red sphere of the sun sink into the burgundy sea, washing the pinkening clouds with delicate rays of purple and gold.

 

A cozy feeling kindled within her, and Vector could perceive its comfort. _The most important thing._ To still herself and let herself blend into the tranquility of this world instead of merely passing through it, as she had so many other worlds. To become part of its beauty rather than only its witness. To accept the impact its composure made on her ravaged spirit. To let it all go and simply _be_.

 

Vector could do this so automatically, so effortlessly, and he was so at ease with the idea and the act of it that she was nonplussed; she was always focused on whatever discrete problem was at hand, her mind working to conjure solutions, and it was difficult to relinquish the habit. But he was so ready and so suited to showing her how to follow him without words or lessons by artlessly and unreservedly accepting the pacifying grace of all around him that she did it without question, with a heart full of trust. She took a breath and as she let the calm wash into her soul, she could feel the anguish and pain of Corellia, of Eradication Day, of the Star Cabal all wringing out of her, unable to stand against the serenity that fought its battles by simply being too pure to engage in them. It almost frightened her to be so still, to be so empty and yet so full at the same time. Such a confrontation within her needed a release, and it found it by spilling from her eyes so softly that she was only dimly aware of her tears until Vector's gentle fingers brushed them away.

 

Was it always like this for him? Paha wondered. Beauty that burned so deeply into the tissues of the senses that it was almost agonizing? How could someone fight something so overpowering?

 

A little voice in her head, not unlike Vector's, questioned in answer: Why would you want to?

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. _Toovee, or not Toovee?_ [I'm sorry. I am so, so, sorry.](http://s3-ak.buzzfeed.com/static/2014-05/tmp/webdr05/12/19/anigif_eaa6a580d8aece464ad6ec5fd8670b68-0.gif) I at least stopped myself from writing, "That is the question!"
> 
> 2\. When I was writing fantasy stories and designing DnD campaign worlds in college, one of my first steps was to go through through geologic and meteorologic steps in my world building - including plate tectonics (yes, really). Once that determined where continents, ocean chasms, and mountain chains were, the prevailing winds were laid down to determine oceanic properties (even accounting for things like Coriolis force!) and the corresponding weather patterns. That would give me enough information to designate the various biomes, terrain, and general vegetation types. I could plunk down volcanoes in logical locations and predict what coasts would get typhoons. I know I'm a nerd, but sometimes, it bugs me if there are some really egregious physics-violating errors in world building (unless it's clear that magic or non-natural forces played a part).
> 
> 3\. Which brings me to Xaastu. I wasn't as meticulous with my world building here, but I did give some thought to its general construction. It's a planet with a comparatively thin crust leading to a great many hotspots that generate a vast number of volcanic islands - generally slowly, not explosively, because the necessary pressure for an explosive eruption does not occur often. The planet has gone through multiple glacial ages, substantially increasing the polar ice caps, heavily reducing the sea level and exposing more of the volcanic islands. 
> 
> At the end of each ice age, the caps melted, and the influx of water combined with isostatic rebound (the weight of polar ice caps depresses planetary crust) raised the sea level substantially, over the lower levels of the islands. The melting ice caps were largely fresh water (less dense than salt water), but their extremely cold temperature increased the water density leading the water mass to sink, generally without mixing, until the increase in storm activity (increased global temperature and increased water leading to increased storm energy) pulled the cold, fresh water up. The rising water brought nutrient-rich bottom debris to the surface (this is called upwelling), and created a massive increase in aquatic invertebrate biological activity, particularly over the shallow shelves of the islands, eventually creating limestone. With each geologic age on Xaastu, volcanic activity (glacial ages) and biological activity (temperate periods) traded off on the duties of terraforming, creating the white and black cliffs, ledges, and terraces of the islands.
> 
> There you have it, folks: the science part of this bit of science fiction.
> 
> 3\. A smidgen of unintentional angst at the end of the chapter. I hadn't meant to go there until I started writing it; it occurred to me that while Paha knows a hell of a lot about how to stay alive, Vector has a much better idea of (and appreciation for) the sorts of things that make life worth living. She's always been too wrapped up in either surviving or working to give herself over to these things that Vector has known for a long time, either from a human standpoint ("art, culture") or a Killik one (nature, unity). Meditation has done a lot to deepen his understanding of his peculiar life, and Paha would likely benefit from it, too.


	3. History and Geography

“Now,” prompted Vector with a little hum of satisfaction as he re-settled himself across the rock table, propping himself on one elbow and a cushion, “we are ready for this story of yours. Marooned?”

 

Paha, cross-legged with her feet tucked under her knees, smirked a little as she handed her empty plate to Toovee. “Thank you. The meal was excellent.”

 

“Oh, thank you, master!” replied the droid effusively. “I am so pleased you enjoyed it! It warms my circuits to know how well I have served you! I was concerned that perhaps I had added just a bit too much –”

 

“No, no,” Paha interrupted hastily, anxious to head off what would be several minutes of detailed explanations before they got underway. “Don't change a thing. It was delicious. Thank you for handling the clean up.”

 

“Of course, master!” Toovee's tirades, thankfully, could be easily derailed, although that carried the hazard of risking the start of a new one. The mere suggestion of a necessary chore was, Paha had long earlier learned, usually sufficient to break the chain of the droid''s programmed but overwhelming expressions. “Shall I bring you anything else? You have only but to ask!”

 

“No, thank you,” Paha replied politely, covering a smile by taking a delicate sip from her wineglass. “I don't think there is anything else you will need to take care of tonight. Feel free to power down for the rest of the evening, if you like.”

 

“As you say, master,” Toovee inclined his mechanical head slightly and, balancing the plates and utensils in both hands, crossed the stretch of turf to vanish up the ramp of the _Phantom_. Paha looked down at Vector, who was slowly twirling the deep garnet wine around his glass with absent fingers and gazing up at her with an expression of mingled amusement, relaxation, and adoration; when she bent to kiss him lightly, slowly, his tongue tasted the gentle burn of the wine on her lips.

 

“Marooned?” he reminded her again, gracing her with a charming smile when she drew back.

 

“It's really not _that_ interesting of a story,” she protested, but the way she bit at her lips to muffle the chortle that kept perniciously seeking its escape proved she was lying without his needing to inspect her aura. He gave her a bland, disbelieving look.

 

“Okay, okay,” she admtted, letting the relentless grin flash across her features. “It's _a little_ interesting.” She refilled their glasses from the wine decanter before beginning.

 

“I wasn't much more than a kid at the time, by human standards. Fifteen, I think; for a Chiss, that's at least two years into adulthood. I had no where to go, my mother had been dead for two or three years, and I had no relations.”

 

“We remember,” Vector said, somewhat more gravely than he had intended. He recalled with perfect clarity their first visit to Quesh, where she had revealed so much of herself and her history to him, much to his gratified surprise. Although he had been attracted to her, and at least half in love with her before her story, it was only after Quesh that he began to understand her, the solitary child of exile. That had been the moment he realized she truly would trust him with her secrets and herself, and his interest in her had suddenly deepened into something much stronger and more hopeful. Perhaps she was thinking of the same, the way her vision seemed to focus on something far away and inward, with a small, fond curl touched the edges of her mouth. The expression faded as she recollected herself, and continued.

 

“I was already a good shot. Quite good, since often I didn't really have much else to do other than practice. But I was barely scraping by. I'd had essentially no success getting hired as... well, anything. Guard, mercenary, bounty hunter – either I didn't have the qualifications or the experience or the right race – ” Paha broke off with an indifferent shrug, and took another mouthful of the wine. “Ah, well, that part doesn't really matter.”

 

“How did you survive?” Vector asked quietly. He hadn't expected the story to touch some of her more uncomfortable memories.

 

“A few odd jobs when I could get them, a bit of theft here and there, and entering every competitive marksmanship contest that had a decent prize purse. And winning,” Paha replied with a tiny flare of vanity. “When that was insufficient... people throw out the most astonishing stuff. Things I could salvage and sell. Things I could eat.”

 

At the touch of Vector's compassionate hand on her knee, she brightened, putting on a proud, tight-lipped smile. “But I was never sorry for myself. I never begged. I learned to think fast, to take care of myself, to stand up on my own. I guess I'm thankful – everything it taught me, making me who I am now.”

 

Distanced from the experience by time and memory, she had the leisure now to be philosophical about it, and her expression softened. “Sorry.”

 

“For what?'' Vector asked, although in a tone so caring that it was clear he already knew. “We will never be sorry for anything you share with us.”

 

“Just... no reason for all this. Maudlin rubbish,” Paha dismissed the experiences of her young adulthood with a wave of her hand. “And a digression when I promised you an interesting story.”

 

She uncurled her legs, stretching them before her and crossing them tidily at the ankle, leaning back on the hand that didn't hold the wine glass. “The only part that is relevant was that I would accept nearly any work that came my way, and I fell in with this aging Trandoshan. He never told me the details, but I could tell he was disgraced – he would say sometimes he had 'no score.' I guess outcasts recognize their own.

 

“He managed to make a decent living acting as a guide to big trophy hunters from the Core, or the Empire, leading personal hunts in the Outer and Mid Rim worlds, sometimes Hutt space. If the hunt warranted it – if the target was a difficult one, or if he didn't have any confidence in his client, or if the fee was big enough – he would bring me along as a second. Someone who had the skill to put the quarry down when the client couldn't.

 

“We were hired by this Cronese noble – a minor lord only, but you'd never know it to hear him talk. So full of himself. He fancied himself a great shot and a superb hunter, and he wanted to add a fenstomper head to his trophy collection. Not an easy target, but the amount he paid for the privilege was enough to bury me in food for a year. So we took him out to Uxrhes, in the Bajic Sector of the Outer Rim, to get his fenstomper. Unfortunately he was, without exception, not only the most arrogant ass we ever had to put up with, but also the dumbest. It's a lethal combination. He ignored half the advice we gave him, and thanks to him, the fenstomper would have killed us all. Nearly did, and didn't only because of me. His manner of thanking me was to scream at me for my interference until he had cycled through at least three shades of purple.”

 

Paha paused as Vector tipped another several milliliters of wine into their glasses.

 

“Thank you,” Paha smiled. “I promise, the story does get better.”

 

Vector merely gestured for her to continue, smiling at her encouragingly across the rim of his glass.

 

“This wasn't the first time he'd been nasty, but the price was high enough that I had figured I was just fairly earning my wage by keeping quiet. But by this point, I was done.”

 

“What did you do?” Vector asked curiously, noting the ripples of amusement suddenly tickling at her aura.

 

“I convinced him that, now that he had his fenstomper, the Uxrhed crested bladewing would be a small but worthwhile hunt for him. Active only at twilight hours, very skittish, highly developed sense of smell. They dwell in swamps, like the fenstomper, so the only way – I told him – to get close was for him to sit in the swamp and cover himself in fenstomper dung to mask his scent.”

 

“You _didn't_ ,” gasped Vector, aghast and amused.

 

“Oh, I _did._ We set him up in the afternoon and told him that we would flush the bladewings toward him; they'd fly right for him as soon as they caught wind of us.” Paha couldn't repress her broad grin. “All he had to do was shoot.”

 

“And he believed you?”

 

“Every word. We left the fool sitting in fenstomper feces up to his chin. It smells awful, and he smeared it on his face, in his ears, worked it into his hair like he was trying a new fashion. Coalzeth – the Trandoshan – and I spent the evening snickering over a bottle of Devaronian rotgut vodka and patting ourselves on the back. Every so often, one of us would head down to the outskirts of the swamp and yell 'here comes one!' just to keep him on his toes. I've _never_ ,” Paha said, breaking into uncontrollable giggles, “ _ever_ seen a man look so serious over a pile of crap before.”

 

By this point, Vector was nearly howling with laughter, and Paha had to make a quick grab for his wine glass to keep him from spilling it. Wiping tears of mirth from his eyes, he croaked out, “How long did he stay there?”

 

“Somewhere past midnight we told him that it didn't look like the bladewings would cooperate that evening, and that it was probably best if he cleaned up."  Paha drained the last mouthful from his wineglass, poured more into it, and passed it back to him with an innocent look.

 

"He was determined to stay through until morning to take another crack at it, but eventually he decided to follow our advice - for once," Paha continued, making a wry face that perfectly expressed her opinion on her obstinate client. "I think it was somewhere around his fourth or fifth shower that he started to suspect he'd been had – or maybe he might have done the brief bit of research that was necessary to tell him that there is no such thing as an Uxrhed crested bladewing. At any rate, he decided the hunt was over; he had his fenstomper and that was enough. We had hardly taken off when he set down here, and ordered us off his ship at gunpoint. At that distance, even _he_ couldn't miss. In retrospect, it's lucky he didn't jettison us out the airlock mid-space. He could have left us on Uxrhed, but Xaastu is far more remote.  Or maybe he didn't think of it until after he had taken off.”

 

With a shrug of her eyebrows, Paha surveyed their surroundings, dimly lit and dancing in the glow of the fire's flames. “Not a bad place to be marooned, I'd say.”

 

“Not at all,” Vector agreed, raising himself to a sitting position. “But there is a difference between being here willingly, with supplies, and being abandoned here with nothing. How did you escape? Were you rescued?”

 

“Sure, if saving myself counts as a rescue,” Paha answered easily. “This world used to be regularly inhabited – mined for its unusual stone.  I found some old quarries before; it's been used in both the Empire and the Republic. But it's too far and too expensive to make it worthwhile, and the business interests all pulled out ages ago. Many left behind their workers' shelters, so Xaastu has become a haven for smugglers. The Bajic Sector nearby is home to several crime syndicates. Black Sun spice operations, too, from what I know of the area, so this planet comes in pretty handy for them. Anyway, Coalzeth used most of his client's fee to bribe his way onto a freighter, but I felt I had worked too hard for that money to forfeit it so easily. So I found a passing captain, and made all manner of highly vague suggestions to him that he chose to interpret as promises, and jumped ship at the next port he docked at.”

 

She slid an arm around him, sidling closer along the rock, and gave him a winsome look. “And that,” she smiled, “is how I know Xaastu.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Xaastu and Uxrhed are my own constructs, but the Bajic Sector does exist (canonically) on the [very southern edge of the Outer Rim](https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/2/26/Galaxymap_p1.jpg), midway between the major galactic shipping thoroughfares of the Corellian Run and the Rimma Trade Route. It is home to criminal syndicates and spiceworks.
> 
> As usual, this portion ended up being longer than I expected, so I cut it at a natural breaking point and shifted the next part into chapter 4.


	4. The Movement of Celestial Bodies

The last vestiges of daylight were fading from the twilit heavens, the horizon above the sea just tinted a profound, clear lilac hue, and the first bright stars gleamed fearlessly in the gathering night, their shyer brethren slowly revealing themselves as the darkness deepened. A sliver of a blueish moon shimmered high above, and her fuller sister, luminous in hues of rose and purple, was just starting to peek over the mountains that stood lofty and black before the eastern sky.

 

“Chilly?” asked Vector softly, noting as a small tremor slithered through Paha's frame. Every nerve strung taut in her body was acutely aware of his presence, a tingling, electric burn ignited by his nearness.

 

“Not likely,” Paha replied, her dreamy smile quirking archly. “Native to an ice planet, remember?”

 

“There's very little about you we're liable to forget,” he answered, rising to toss another log on the fire anyway. Despite her words, she found that as he pulled away, she immediately missed the comfortable warmth of his body in contact with hers; when he sat again beside her, she tucked up her feet and curled against him, breathing him in and listening to the rhythm of his heart, feeling the weight of his embrace and the piquant fragrance of wine over the milder background scent of himself. She hovered a moment, stretching out the allure of his lips waiting mere slender fractions of space from her own, before she slowly tipped her head to welcome the sweetness of their touch.

 

Gliding his broad hands down her body, Vector slipped them beneath her and scooped her half into his lap, chuckling into their kiss as she emitted a small exclamation of surprise. His lips strayed over her languidly, ghosting along her ear to her neck where he was abruptly halted by the troublesome existence of her jacket collar. He broke off with a huff of frustration.

 

With a laugh, she straightened and drew away, her hands raising to undo the fastenings, and after he had slid the jacket down her arms, he imprisoned her fingers within his clasp.

 

“Hold still,” he asked, in a low, longing accent that seemed to sink into her bones, and she caught her breath, trembling and striving to comply as his fingertips skimmed like butterflies over the bare skin of her arms, along the narrow ridge of her collarbone, down to cup the soft and yielding hills of her breasts. He stood, moving around her deliberately, and skimmed down the length of her body, his palms spread flatly over the tracts of her thighs and shins, until he was low enough to slide each boot from her lifted foot. She curled her toes with a little pleasurable grunt as he massaged each, working his thumbs into the arches.

 

“Ooh. That feels _sinfully_ good,” she breathed. He glanced up with a flattered and contented look, but as she leaned forward to kiss him, to feel him under her hands, his smile became a bit cheekier and he pulled back out of her reach without relinquishing his hold.

 

“We believe we requested you to hold still,” Vector admonished her playfully.

 

“Oh – yes, _sir_ ,” she answered archly with a simper. Her hand continued to inch towards him regardless.

 

“We warn you: we're not above tickling you,” he retorted, his fingers twitching so close to the bare skin of her foot that she imagined she could feel them already carrying out his threat.

 

“Don't you dare,” Paha gasped, fighting an abrupt and desperate urge to squirm preemptively. “Look, I'm holding still. See? Like the good girl I am.”

 

“Hmm. We had no idea that would be so effective,” he said, her foot still trapped within his grasp, his thumb stroking along the bones of her ankle. “That's something we'll _certainly_ keep in mind.”

 

She made no answer – did talking count as moving? – and he resumed his meticulous exploration of her body. She closed her eyes, initially out of a pert notion that blinking might be against the rules, but secondarily to eliminate one of her senses, her primary one, and let herself sink into the sensations another brought to her awareness.

 

She held still as he stroked the lean muscles of her calves and thighs, smoothing over the material of her pants as he drew closer to where her desire tingled between her legs. She held still as she felt his hands traverse her hips and her waist, and as he lifted her sleeveless shirt, drawing it gently over her head and leaving her bare to the night. She held still as she felt him take her hand within his own, and felt next the press of his lips to her wrist, and the air cool on her skin in the wake of a delicate motion of the tip of his tongue traveling from her wrist to her elbow, from elbow to shoulder, from shoulder to neck, to the perfect little spot below her ear where she could hardly refrain from shaking.

 

It was not, in fact, until his heated fingers loosened the bands of her undergarments, releasing her breasts from their confines, freeing them to the kiss of the night air and the wet warmth of his tongue, that her resolve was defeated by the tremulous breath and involuntary quiver that thrilled through her. She snagged her lip in her teeth, and, unable to resist, reached out to spread her hands across his back, one of them gliding up to curl her fingers between the straight black strands of the hair that rested on his neck.

 

In response, he drew one sensitive tip to a firm point with a sucking motion, and it took her some dizzy moments to realize that, while his lips had been so deliciously employed, so too had his hands; she shifted, raising her hips to let him slide the last of her clothing from her body. The touch of the night on her flushed skin prompted her muscles to clench, from her fingers to her toes, but none more strongly than those that twisted warmly below the pit of her stomach. The clench turned to a shudder as his hand, recently proven so adept at the art of a good foot rub, slipped between her legs and began to demonstrate more than equal adroitness on the eager, dampened tissues hidden there. There was a moment in which all her senses but that of touch melted away, and there was no sight, no sound, neither smell nor taste, just the exquisite feeling of Vector's fingers and lips and tongue on more places of her body than she could coherently process.

 

“ _Vector_...” she gasped.

 

“Not yet,” he murmured, moving his mouth precisely, painstakingly, down the expanse of her stomach to the crease of her thigh. “Not yet. We're not done. We want to know you this way the way we know you with our eyes. We want to taste you – every part of you.”

 

She could no more prevent herself from writhing as he traced her delicate folds with a gentle, probing movement of his tongue than she could have stopped herself from breathing, and she felt the only thing anchoring her to earth was the weight of his hands alone on her hips, on her waist, on her legs, on her breasts.

 

“And – ” she asked; her voice, when she was able to figure out where she had misplaced it, was husky and shaken, “and what do I taste like?”

 

“The warmth of spice in a winter's evening,” he answered at last, his words pouring over her skin. The stubble on his cheek rasped along her thigh as he nuzzled her. It was as if being here, in this pristine piece of unfaltering nature, away from the cities and the people and the metal cages that secured them in space, had released in him something untamed and raw and wholly natural, but yet exquisitely, almost agonizingly, tender.

 

“The edge of frost on a leaf turning gold. You taste like how moonlight dances on the waves of the sea in the dark of a summer night. ...Of unfettered winds that kiss away the tears of the morning sun on the petals of a flower. Of stardust – and nebulas.”

 

Paha twitched and quivered, and suddenly reached out a hand to him, gently stopping his motions. He gave her a puzzled look.

 

“No?”

 

“ _Definitely_ not no,” she answered fervently. “Just... as you said – not _yet_.” The smile she gave him was coy.

 

“I can't see any reason why you should need any of this,” she asserted then, clearly referencing his clothing, the manufactured things that artificially separated him from nature, and from her, and that inadequately masked his strong hard desire for her. With quick keen enthusiasm, she began divesting him of his jacket with hands that quaked ever so slightly; her trembling lips brushed the nape of his neck as she pulled his shirt away from his shoulders, exposing the strong muscles of his back. Catching herself rushing, she forced herself to slow, to separate eagerness from haste, and took more time as she unfastened his belt buckle, and drew his pants down his legs, sliding her hands over the sculpted sinews of his thighs as she exposed them. Her fingers lingered over the firm flesh of his buttocks and toyed delicately with heated hardness of his member, and his breath escaped him in an involuntary groan.

 

The rock beneath had lost the warmth it had absorbed from the rays of the sun, and as she pressed her lips to his, she sailed down lightly, pulling him with her into the more comfortable grass, among the flowers with the burgundy leaves. As she kissed him, tasting the residue of herself on his tongue and feeling his weight holding her to earth, his lungs filled with the heady, piquant bouquet of her scent weaving with the strands of perfume thrown up from the silver flowers crushing beneath her.

 

The sighing cry she made as he slid into her shot through him, contracting and expanding his blood and nerves as they responded to her call, and he sank in deeply. She rose against him when he moved, slow and tender, and as the tendrils of floral fragrance curled around her naked body, he suddenly rolled them over together, lifting her above the sweet fog of the crumpled grass and re-settling her across his hips with reverent hands.

 

“We want to watch you,” he murmured softly as she sank upon him with a shimmying motion.

 

“What?” she stammered uncertainly, startled into immobility and a faint color of consternation tinting the flaring, ardent hues of her aura. No one had ever made such a request to her before, and it temporarily confounded her. To be sure, every partner was always witness to the other, but a specific declaration of observation was a novelty to her, and, self-conscious and violet-faced, she flushed a darker color from her cheeks to her collarbones.

 

“We want to watch you,” he repeated gently, sensing her discomfort in the sound of her muscles tensing slightly beneath his fingers and the faint, tangy odor of surprise. He moved beneath her, raising his hips and pushing himself still further into her, feeling the quick response of her slick folds, securely holding him within her, engulfing him with soft, strong tension. His fingers glided gracefully over the terrain of her body, all undulating hills and fields of blooming twilight blue, dusted with the pollen of the silver flowers and glittering in the moonlight, soothing her, smoothing down the edge of her apprehension as though her nerves were clay in his hands.

 

“No audiences,” he reminded her in a voice low and hoarse with the intensity of his desire, and firmly pressing upward again as he held her hips against him, “just as our first time. Each of us as free as the night.”

 

His meandering fingers came to rest where their bodies joined, and knuckled against the nub of pleasure that nestled between her legs as he pushed again, and her flustered feeling faded and soared away on the whimpering breath of delight that leaped from her lips. After all – when he had already seen her at her worst, would she now shy from his desire to see her at her best?

 

“Let us watch you,” he begged, watching her confusion melt away like ice beneath the heat of his hands, “that we may know how every spark of you flares; that when your radiance breaks the sky we may see you crowned with stars.”

 

She could feel the caress of his words as surely as she could feel his touch on her and within her, and the tightening of all their sinews and fibers together, her voice barely audible as she gasped out to him.

 

“ _Vector – !_ ”

 

Her breath shuddered through her, a second later followed by something deeper and sweeter and far more encompassing than a mere inhalation, and as she arched her sense of equilibrium blurred, her mastery of herself swept out of her grasp in the surge, and all the threads that tied her to solid ground and all the cords that bound her to herself dissolved, unraveling in the undertow that pulled her down and buoyed her up, billowing on a wave that flooded through her and ebbed like a tide. The sound of his cries, rapturous in release, struck her ear, entwining with her own that she had hardly been aware she had made, and she felt his strain break beneath and within her.

 

For a moment, all the galaxy was frozen in time.

 

“ _Holy_ stars,” she panted weakly, opening her eyes under fluttering lids as her senses began to reorient themselves. For an instant she caught his gaze, looking up at her with an expression of mixed wholehearted adoration and self-satisfaction, and then Paha lay quietly down on him, rising and falling with the motion of his chest as he breathed heavily.

 

“I love you,” she mumbled into his damp skin. She was still shaking.

 

Vector slid a limp arm around her, hugging her to him, and was silent a moment as jumbled images tumbled though his mind: Paha, glimmering in moonlight and powdery pollen, her head flung back and lost in ecstasy. Paha, cradled in fragrance and his hands, with stars dancing on her brow. Paha, as he saw every cell in her body fracture with light, like a universe of supernovas. Paha, entrusting all of herself to him and letting him touch each tiny fragment.

 

“We know,” he whispered. He touched light lips to her hair. “We know.”

 


	5. Cold Showers and Hot Baths

“It's not Kaas Falls,” Paha tossed back over her shoulder as she paused for a breath on the steep slope, “but it's still a pretty impressive sight. Not much further.”

 

“We can hear it,” Vector agreed, but aside from the pleasant roaring sound, he could smell the freshness of the water and feel its chill in the air. There was no obvious trail, but a quick-eyed observer would note the unusual smooth flatness, about two meters wide, where the gnarled shrubs and clustering conifer trees were more thinly spaced and younger than those to either side. At some point long past, this barely visible track had been a road, and a solid one. Solid and strong enough to support the weight of heavy machinery, packing it down harder with every pass up and down the slope, a long train of cargo carts full of white and black striped stone. “You found this place when you were here before?”

 

“It's not like I had a lot to do,” Paha pointed out. “Explore, or twiddle my thumbs while waiting for a rescue.”

 

“We're not imaginative enough to envision you doing that.”

 

Paha laughed, breathless from the exertion of the climb, and in a matter of a few more steps, she stopped and pointed, pleased and strangely proud, as if she herself had sculpted the sight, or if the rare knowledge of its secrets gave her some sort of possessing claim upon it, to be revealed to others only of her choosing.

 

“There!” she proclaimed.

 

The rock quarry gaped at their feet, filled with water to some three or four meters below the ledge where they stood, rounded around the perimeter but block-cut into square-edged plateaus and ramps by machinery long ago removed. To their right, dancing down the mountainside, a tall, narrow cascade of sparkling water tumbled into the quarry lake, where it pooled in milky, dense turquoise shimmers. Across the quarry, a second spring burbled up out of a series of steaming wells and bubbled over an array of mineral-encrusted terraces to fill the far half of the quarry with hot water of such perfect clarity that the platforms of the quarry could be seen far into its straight-sided depths. In a swath that cut in looping swirls across the center of the pond, the waters, warm and clear on one side, cold and pearly on the other, mixed in swirls and eddies, before finally draining from the quarry in a thin rivulet that tumbled down the slope alongside the ancient, overgrown path they had climbed. Along the quarry edges, from the low cliffs on the waterfall side to the flat banks on the other, flourished the familiar silver flowers with red leaves, the slender, hollow stalks of the ruddy trees with their pale green leaves, and the darker shadowy hues of heavier shrubs. Vector stared, drinking in the view with all his senses.

 

“It's better than Kaas Falls,” he averred at last. “Some of it reminds us of Alderaan – the way the rocks breathe life into the water; the way the water forever shapes the rock. Water sometimes amazes us: never still, always moving, always transient and in flux, yet the traces of its passing marked on the permanent land for eternity. And the stone marks the water as much as the water marks the stone. Heating it, as the spring over there, or coloring it as the cold falls. There's a scientific explanation, of course. Rock flour, it's called. Ground fine by the glaciers, and washed down here, where it refracts the light and creates that deep color. But we think of it more as a gemstone made liquid. Sometimes science takes the magic out of – ”

 

He recognized at this point that he had been speaking mostly to himself, and he turned his head, curious. “Paha?”

 

“I'm listening!” her voice sang out from behind a screen of bushes. Puzzled, he followed more her scent than her sound, which led him to the discovery of her clothes, hastily folded, but did little to address his bewilderment. There was a flash of blue, the warmth and rustle of a body passing rapidly close by, and an unhindered, wild shout, and Paha's lithe form leaped from the ledge and plummeted into the tranquil waters below. She popped up a moment later, her hair plastered to her head and eyes bright.

 

“Come on!” she shouted, gleeful and giddy. “The water's fine! If,” she added, grinning as she saw his hands already moving to his jacket, “you hit it in the middle. Too far to the left or right and you'll be in for a bit of a shock.”

 

Paha bobbed in the water slightly, just enough to let him appreciate the sight of her breasts bobbing along with her, before upending – just as calculated, Vector was certain, to give him a view of her bottom, expertly framed with ripply waves, before it and she disappeared beneath the surface to clear the deep area for him to join her. By the time she came up again, Vector's clothes had been discarded alongside hers, and she had a moment to take full advantage of the opportunity to stare at him, unabashedly wanton, before he sprang from the ledge in a clean, easy arc, diving neatly into the pool. Paha tread water, waiting expectantly.

 

Vector did not reappear. She turned her head, unworried yet curious, scanning the pool, but nothing disturbed the surface of the water apart from the little, lapping waves caused by her movements as she sculled her hands. She turned again, a slight feeling of anxiousness tugging at her gut that she pushed aside – it had been a high dive, and he likely would have gone deep... but what other ledges might be hidden unseen below? It was on the tip of her tongue to shout for him, and she caught herself, feeling the impulse to be automatic, but stupid – if he were under the water, he likely couldn't hear her, nor respond even if he could. Seconds passed, and still no Vector, and her apprehension deepened into full-blown alarm. She struck out with a strong crawl stroke, heading for the spot where she had seen him enter.

 

Paha had hardly begun when there was a sudden grip that clamped about her ankle, simultaneous with a touch that skated along the ticklish bottom of her foot. With a piercing, shrieking noise that she later vehemently denied making – and furthermore even if she _had_ made such a noise she would be pleased to not have it described as a 'squeal,' _thank you very much_ , – she bolted straight up out of the water like a shot, and came down again neatly into Vector's arms. He favored her with a smug smile, enhanced or perhaps countered, Paha couldn't decide which, by the water dripping from the tip of his nose.

 

“ _You!_ ” she gasped. She tried to give him a threatening glare, but with her hair bedraggled over her face and his arms around her and his hands holding her in some very distracting locations, she didn't feel she was being particularly effective at it.

 

“Yes, us,” he replied with perfect innocence and perfect contentment, backing them with a few easy kicks until his toes found the edge of a broad slab of rock, slick with a faint film of algae, jutting out from the quarry wall. “You seem surprised..?”

 

“I was starting to wonder if I needed to start diving for your corpse,” she retorted. “I knew you could swim; I didn't know you were that good at it.”

 

“We haven't done it much since going to Alderaan,” he explained, rearranging his hold on her as her demeanor and body settled. “Too cold most of the time. But we often used to swim; we recall we grew up doing so on Jurio.”

 

“Not much opportunity for swimming on Csilla,” Paha said. “I didn't even learn how until after the exile. And later, it was of course part of standard military training.” She flicked her fingertips on the surface of the water, splashing him playfully with a few scattered droplets, her eyes twinkling.

 

“Is that part of standard military training, too?”

 

“Aquatic surface combat techniques,” she replied glibly, sending a slightly bigger splash his direction. He darted swiftly back out of range.

 

“Our assessment is that you could use some practice,” he answered, smirking and flinging a handful of water at her from the cup of his palm. She deflected the bulk of the deluge by tossing up her hand, but as her grinning face peeked around her outstretched fingers, she was met with a follow-up volley that left her sputtering between laughs.

 

“We learned that one from you: never assume your first shot will be the one to get the job done,” Vector said, like a child reciting a lesson.

 

“You should also know by now not to give your foe the chance to counterattack,” Paha said as she sank onto her back in the water, letting it buoy her up, and, with a strong kick, directed a broad curtain of water at his head. He lunged at her, and with a gleeful shriek, she kicked harder, but with more control, directing the energy into propulsion rather than splashing, and shot out into the pool, with Vector barely a length behind. Devilishly, a few strokes brought her over the hazy barrier between the temperate area and the frigid, opalescent waters sourced from the glaciers above.

 

Vector pulled up with a gasp of shock. “That was unfair!” he protested with a hiss. Only one of his hands was visible, sculling as he tread water; his other, no doubt, cupped protectively over his genitals against the cold.

 

“Tactics,” Paha answered with easy self-assurance. “Know thy enemy.”

 

“Oh, we do,” he replied, his lips curling. Instantly, he cut across the short span of water to her, his superior skill allowing him to catch her before she could gather herself to flee, and he slung his arm around her, pulling her back to his chest and her rump, softer and more protective than his hand could be, comfortably against his thighs.

 

“I thought it was too cold!' she objected. She squirmed a little, pretending to be vexed at her capture, wriggling her buttocks over him enticingly. While the icy water had served to diminish him, it had accented her, the skin over her breasts puckering tightly with goosebumps and her nipples standing out firm and dark. In response to her fidgeting, he jostled her lightly, hitching her with his arm, wrapped tightly around her torso just below the perfection of those floating blue orbs, and hauled her with clean, strong kicks back to less dangerous waters.

 

“We said it was too cold _most_ of the time; not that we never did it.” He kept swimming, even after reaching the safety of the mixed band of water, continuing to where the clear water heated in the thermal spring cooled over a series of submerged shallow ledges to the cozy temperature of a hot bath. His feet touched down, but he held her up, half afloat on her back, and she looked up into his eyes, deeper and darker and warmer than any pool of water could ever be. “And we'd do it again, if it meant getting to you.”

 

Vector saw the heat kindling in her eyes and his words, and returned it with a bland look of injured pride. “But only because we would owe you some payback for forcing us to swim into the ice water to get you.”

 

Paha exclaimed wordlessly, feigning offense and adding, “I didn't _force_ you! _You_ decided to chase _me._ ” She turned, setting her feet on the ledge below; in the process, the tips of her breasts brushing the skin of his chest and she bit back the moaning little sigh that threatened to completely undermine her playful scolding. The unfettered freedom of being entirely naked in the pool, buoyed up without the interference of clothing between her skin and the water, made her quick and sensitive to every touch, and, judging from the hard pressure of Vector against the crease of her thigh, it was having very much the same effect on him.

 

He gave her an enigmatic smile. “You started it,” he pointed out. “And you haven't even heard what your forfeit is to be.”

 

“Very well,” she replied airily. She had a different opinion on who, exactly, had started it, but that point was much less important, and much less interesting, than the paybacks promised to be. “I am ready. What's my penalty?”

 

By way of answering, he leaned her back in the water, scooping an arm beneath her knees, and he lowered his head to take the tip of her breast in his mouth, tasting how the water and the minerals salted her skin. How the colors of her aura flowed from her, and danced with the vibrancy of nature that surrounded them. How the movement of his tongue over her nipple drew tiny noises of excitement and desire from her throat, which in turn made the blood in his groin surge and leap.

 

A moment later he lifted his head and she opened her eyes, her rapid breathing causing ripples to tremble on the surface of the water around the delicate coastline of the twin islands of her breasts.

 

“That was it?” she asked, blinking. “You kissing my boobs was my forfeit?”

 

“Oh, no,” he assured her roundly. “Your forfeit was that we _stopped_.”

 

Her eyes widened, and he laughed, and the next few moments were all rather befuddled, what with all the splashing and pouncing and shrieking and giggling, but when the water calmed again, she had him on his back in the warm shallows, not barely deep enough to fully cover the muscles of his legs, her fingers trickling droplets over his skin and her lips working their way with agonizing leisure to the heated core between his legs. He twitched, unable to repress a throaty groan as she delicately lapped the water from his hips, his thighs, his shaft.

 

She worked slowly, teasing and unhurried, and when at last she enclosed her lips fully around him, he tensed with pleasure, another sensuous sound of desire erupting from his throat.  Allowing him to relax just a little, she then moved with care and deliberation, feeling him twitch beneath her hands, the rumble of indistinct words in his chest.  She paused, and he broke off, mid-utterance, raising his head.

 

“Now, if _I_ were to stop here...” Paha mused sinfully, her eyes flashing with amusement and lust.

 

“You would prove yourself as the most wicked woman in the Empire,” Vector said, somewhere between a gasp and a growl.

 

“Not a bad title,” she assessed, pretending to consider the prospect. Her fingers toyed absently with the skin and curls of hair between his thighs, damp with water and sweat.

 

“You would also be responsible for the death of a perfectly good man,” he added, stifling a groan that he knew would only heighten her sense of triumph.

 

“I've been responsible for the deaths of lots of perfectly good people,” she replied with equanimity.

 

Thoroughly exasperated, Vector sat up, grabbed her with greedy hands and yanked her roughly across him, setting her firmly across his lap.

 

“And how many of them did _this_ to you?” he demanded, promptly taking her breast between his lips and sucking fiercely, running his tongue around the summit of her nipple. A lightning bolt of desire shot through her, electric and hot and striking the warm aching knot of yearning beneath the pit of her stomach; she arched automatically, pushing herself further into his mouth and driving her hips down into his.

 

“Okay, none of them,” she admitted with a gasp. She could feel his hardness pressing against the folds that shrouded her sex; a slight movement would be all that would be necessary to take him within, to drive out that tangle of need that burned there, but despite her own desire, that was not what she had in mind. Her wishes could, and would, wait. She inched backward on her knees, slithering down the length of his body, and he lolled his head back, torn between a frustrated pique that she was denying his entrance and a heart-throbbing hope that she intended to return to her earlier activity.

 

Hope won out; with a groan as her mouth traced his painful hardness, he dropped back and let himself be filled with all the information his senses could give him: the music of the falls and the spring; the earthy aroma of the water and the perfume of the flowers clustered in the grass behind his head; the scent of her skin, warm in the sun and flushed with the fragrance of her need for him; the gentle impact of every ripple and wave flickering against his hypersensitive nerves, and how they purled at him in time with her movements, those exquisite caresses of her tongue and tormenting pulls of her lips, drawing him in to himself and down to an agonizing depth of pleasure.

 

He gasped, his breath choking as it stumbled over a moan that clogged his throat, and as he felt the rush of air clear his lungs, all his senses fell out of his grasp, each one going blank and white as he was torn free of them. Arching and tensed, he seemed as though all the sinews and fibers of his body had exploded, and were now melting into a limp and unformed puddle, adrift on the warming water that cradled and soothed him. Sound returned next; a faint echo that he suspected was the resounding of his own shouting; the noise of the falls and a slight splashing closer by: Paha, rinsing off. He could smell her, taste her in the air, all piquant desire and cozy satisfied pride. When his vision at last came back to his eyes, she sat beside him, grinning at him irrepressibly.

 

“Was that a suitable forfeit?” she asked. Water droplets sparkled and dripped from her indigo hair in ephemeral crystals that sparkled brighter in the light of her aura, flaring and relaxed but for the tension engendered by her own arousal, than in the light of the sun above.

 

It was another dizzy moment before he replied; he was waiting for his heart to slow and his breathing to steady, and he mutely reached out one hand to cup her breast, watching for the way her nerves tingled beneath his hand as his thumb stroked over its firm tip. Every line of her, outside and in, was drawn before his eyes in minute detail, from each of her eyelashes, half-veiling the fire of her scarlet eyes, to the exact crescent-moon shape of her fingernails, idle against his thigh, and from the taut lines of her muscles to where the pounding of her heart pulsed hot in the tissues hidden damp and impatient between her thighs.

 

So pleasing was the vision, the sight of how fiercely she wanted him, that he caressed her nipple again to let himself rewatch the course of her fire, racing through her veins to her core, making her shift and pinch her thighs restlessly together to provide the most inadequate relief. Already he could feel himself responding, the weighty fire of need starting to burn again as though he hadn't just been quenched in the most delightful of ways.

 

“If we,” he said hoarsely, “can claim such a forfeit again, we'll be happy to let you dunk us in the cold end as often as you want.”

 

“You, actually, were the one who started it,” she protested. “You tickled my foot!” Her laugh was interrupted as he sat up and kissed her, hard and passionate, one hand firmly claiming the territory of her breast as his own, and his other dipping down into the water to glide gentle fingertips over her flesh and the central point of her desire. He could scent the responding fission of delight as it pirouetted down her spine.

 

“A dangerous confession, the susceptibility of your feet.  Perhaps it wasn't fair of us to take advantage,” he murmured huskily into her neck. “But we'll make it up to you.  For we mean to be as gracious in victory as you are in defeat.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. More geological notes: I want to go swimming in this rock quarry, for reals. Volcanic hot spots and glacial run-off together - basically, what would you get if you crossed Yellowstone and Glacier/Waterton Lakes National Parks (though with less sulfur smell!). I think probably the closest might be Iceland, if it were covered in reddish bamboo stalks with light green leaves.
> 
> 2\. Rock flour is a real thing, and the cause behind the vibrant colors of glacial lakes, like [Morraine Lake](https://c1.staticflickr.com/9/8307/7838502218_ce8e8971bb_b.jpg), in Banff National Park, Alberta, Canada. (Canadian readers might recognize this; it used to be on the back of the Canadian $20 bill.)
> 
> 3\. I hadn't planned on 2 smutty chapters in a row, but since these two characters have had so much crap to deal with and keeping them from enjoying themselves, I've been enjoying letting them have some peace and quiet and sexy times. I promise, there really will be some actual plottiness coming up.


	6. Out of a Misty Dream

These were halcyon days; days of wine and flowers, of colors and peace, fading into nights of campfires and clouds, of stars and indulgence, and the one thing that dulled the violet horizon was simply that three weeks of their allotted six had gone.

 

“Although,” Vector shaded his eyes as he straightened, brushing speckles of black and white sand from his knees, “we're not sure we like the look of those clouds.”

 

Paha raised her head from where she had been picking over seashells and sat back on her heels. The ocean in the distance was dark and restless, reflecting the turmoil amassing above it. “We should probably get back,” she agreed. “And we've got a climb ahead of us.”

 

She took the hand he held out to her, hauling her lightly to her feet, and they paused at the edge of the beach only long enough to replace their socks and boots before setting out on their self-made footpath up the long slopes to their camp. The wind swung around, bringing with it the icy brush of a thunderstorm brewing hail, and Vector's glance back told him how swiftly the storm was moving in, its smell growing stronger over the salt of the ocean that still hung about him. The tall auburn stalks of bamboo fluttered their pale green leaves fretfully, tossing on the strengthening breeze, and the grumbling of their hollow trunks striking together were harbingers to the growls of thunder that rolled over the waves with increasing frequency as the storm approached.

 

“It was a good run, but not enough,” Paha panted, as she paused for a rest and looked back, realizing that she could now take her time since there was no chance of outrunning the storm. The surface of the sea crinkled and shimmered darkly as the first sheet of rain whipped across it. “Here it comes!”

 

Vector drew up close beside her, trying to recover his breath, only to nearly have it blasted out of him as the first icy drops of rain pelted down. “There!” He called out over the howl of the wind, pointing to a rock overhang some short distance ahead that offered some modicum of shelter. He grabbed her hand and, flinching at the sting of hailstones, they hustled up the trace of the path and he pushed her before him into the shadow of the rock.

 

“We're going to have bruises from those,” he exclaimed somewhat ruefully, brushing away pebbles of ice from her shoulders and his own.

 

“Then I'll kiss them better,” she said blithely. The hair on his bare arms stood up from the chill, and Paha cuddled against him, running her hands soothingly over his skin to warm him. He curled his arm around her, hugging her to his side and smiled. She tilted up her head to brush her lips against his.

 

“Thank you. But we didn't get hit there.”

 

“No? I thought you did. My mistake then,” she answered, snuggling down comfortably. A bright flash of lightning and the deafening crash of thunder that followed it caused them both to jump, tightening her hold on him.

 

“Scared?” Vector asked.

 

“No,” Paha replied with a flicker of a smile. “Excited!”

 

With her damp and shivering in his arms, her face flushed and eye bright, she was not likely to be the only one excited. His gaze meandered to her neck. “Looks like you were hit there,” he said softly, laying his lips at the vulnerable spot behind her ear.

 

“Mmm,” she answered in a tone that expressed thorough appreciation. “Particularly accurate hail, to hit that exact spot.”

 

“Nature is full of odd coincidences.” He lined her neck with kisses and her shivers had less to do with the chill without than her heat within.

 

“You know, you _did_ get hit here, along your chin,” she said at length, grazing his jaw with her lips. “I can see the mark.”

 

"Did we?"

 

"Maybe."  She gave him a coy smile.

 

“We'll need your help to make a full inspection later.”

 

 _Later_ was likely to be all the sooner if they could get back to the shelter of the _Phantom_ , and Paha experimentally gauged the downpour beyond the rock with an outstretched hand.

 

“No more hail, just rain. And it sounds like the bulk of the lightning had moved on already,” she reported.

 

“It _was_ a fast-moving storm,” Vector agreed, peering out at the skies. He glanced a smoldering look back at her. “Fortunately for us.”

 

The rain was still heavy, saturating and chilly through their drenched clothes as they scrambled up the slopes over slick rocks and squelched through slippery mud with sodden boots, and Vector couldn't help but smile as Paha turned up her cheerful face to the deluge.

 

It was such a wonderful thing: to see her carefree, to catch the airy scent of her happiness, to hear her laughing with abandon into the rain with her mouth open, to feel how her confidence and command had returned to her, here where they could be untouched by politics and schemes and battles. When he kissed her now, she tasted of sunshine and serenity and stardust, without any hint of the bitterness, sorrowful and desperate, that had filled her in the hours before she faced her lethal foe Hunter for the last time; the bitterness that had been put there by Hunter himself – _herself,_ rather – when Paha had been nearly tortured to death on Hunter's orders. It all seemed like so long ago, but it hadn't even been two months. How far she had come! How far they _both_ had, he thought, recalling his inept awkwardness when they had met. Not for the first time, he felt the dazzle of amazement that the isolated melodies of their curious lives had found in each other the most flawless of harmonies.

 

He was still marveling over it as they splashed messily onto the field where the _Phantom_ sat, generally nothing more than a half-forgotten backdrop to their days and nights. It was in his mind yet as he chased her up the ramp of the ship, and as his hands pulled at her clothing, and hers at his, saturated and stubbornly clinging coldly to their shivering skin, peeling away at last and dropped in soggy heaps on the lavatory floor. The astonishment still hung in his mind as he held her in the heat of the shower, his weight and his desire pressing her to the wall and her lips everywhere at once as she giggled and vainly attempted to kiss imaginary bruises left by the hail. It would, in truth, never cease to astound him, even as he fell into a damp and drowsy calm afterward, with her arm draped lazily over his chest, in their old bed in the captain's quarters of the ship, unused since they had arrived.

 

Paha, tranquil but not tired, propped her head on her hand and watched him as he dozed, tracing the refined lines of his face with her eyes, from the arc of his cheekbones to the play of shadow on his chin and the dent of his lip; she smiled to herself as he snored faintly, signifying he had dropped into a deeper sleep. Not wanting to wake him, she slid silently out of bed and slipped her gray silk robe over her shoulders, padding softly out the door, first to the lavatory to wash up, and second to the galley for a cup of tea.

 

She prowled quietly through the ship that had served as her home for the past year, surveying the memories indelibly imprinted on its walls in her mind. Here, the table in Lokin's medical bay where she had awoken after the horrible discovery of the brainwashing Imperial Intelligence had imposed on her. There, the couch where she had sat and bled on the dejarik table after she and Kaliyo had met a wampa with a decidedly cranky disposition. The console in the engine room where she and Scorpio had first established the tentative truce that gradually came to approximate friendship. Opting to train Temple instead of killing her as Hunter had wanted.

 

The cargo hold where she and Vector had fallen in love.

 

It was a poor term, _falling_ _in_ _love_ , she thought. _Falling_ had the connotation of being something accidental, and there had been nothing accidental about it. She had chosen him, as deliberately and consciously as he had chosen her. The thing about accidents was that they were largely preventable, and what she felt for him, what she knew he felt for her – preventable? Not likely. Not like an accident at all.

 

 _Falling_ also meant that at some point, there was a rock bottom that would rush up and bring its scarring impact with it, and nothing of the kind applied here. They hadn't stumbled over the brink of their feelings into an abyss; they had been raised up instead. And then, _falling_ brought to mind clumsy awkwardness; at that idea, the corners of Paha's mouth twitched up. Well, yes, there had been a certain amount of that, at first. Fumbling and shyness and hesitant hope, breaking before the galaxy-shaking realization of a love equally given and accepted on both sides. Still, _falling_ was hardly the most apt –

 

Paha broke off in her ruminations; her wanderings through the ship had led her to the bridge where a small red light blinked at her obliquely from the computer console. A message. An _encrypted_ message, two days old.

 

Sliding slowly down into the command chair, she stared at the light a moment, resting her hand on the cool metal of the console beside the flashing signal.  The console felt smooth and unfamiliar under her fingertips, grown used to the roughness of rocks and trees and dirt over the past twenty-odd days, and she had a momentary pause, rebelliously thinking that she would just simply forget that she had seen that little light, winking and smirking at her and her peaceful thoughts. A sigh, heavier than any sound she had made on Xaastu, raised and lowered her shoulders, and she opened the message.

 

It was brief enough.

 

_News for you. Sorry for the bother, but ASAP. - K, or rather, S._

 

Paha sat back in her chair, nursing her mug of tea. She hadn't needed the signature to guess who it was from – there were not many individuals in the galaxy capable of sending her a message on an old Intelligence encryption channel. The woman who had once been Keeper, overseeing all of Imperial Intelligence, and before that, the Watcher who had handled the data for nearly all of Paha's missions when she had been an official Imperial Agent, even before earning her designation as Cipher Nine. The woman named Shara, who had been something like a friend, and had ordered Paha to submit herself to torture at the hands of the Star Cabal's chief enforcer less than two minuscule months prior.

 

Tapping her fingers in a contemplative but somewhat nervous tattoo against the ceramic of the mug, Paha stared down onto the terrace field that had been their camp, its grasses and flowers slowly raising themselves to the sun again after being battered and flattened by the beating of the rain and the hail.

 

“You too, then?” she asked the storm-trampled blooms absently. With another sigh, she lifted herself from the command chair. It was time to talk to Keeper.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. The chapter title (with a nod in the opening sentence as well) comes from the following poem:
> 
> They Are Not Long - Ernest Dowson (1896)  
>  _Vitae summa brevis spem nos vetat incohare longam._  
>  ("The shortness of life prevents us from entertaining far-off hopes." - Horace, "Odes")
> 
> They are not long, the weeping and the laughter,  
> Love and desire and hate;  
> I think they have no portion in us after  
> We pass the gate.
> 
> They are not long, the days of wine and roses,  
> Out of a misty dream  
> Our path emerges for a while, then closes  
> Within a dream.
> 
> 2\. I've written the past two chapters in under two days as I have been ensconced in a recliner, bundled with blankets and catted (thanks to my little feline friend) and battling a cold that is just bad enough to be obnoxious. I don't know if fevers are conducive to quality, but they seem to be brilliant for quantity.


	7. A Message from Home

Paha bypassed the large holoterminal that stood in the center of the ship and headed instead for the smaller one built into the table of the conference room. After three weeks of peace and quiet, she preferred to interact with something less immediately imposing, something that wouldn't throw its message at her in all its life-size intrusiveness. She sat down, tucking her robe across her chest securely, then drummed her fingers on the surface of the table a moment, giving herself one last chance to back out, before she finally resolutely shifted her hand to the terminal.

 

It was a few minutes before she got a response, but eventually, the bluish static above the terminal resolved itself into the head and shoulders of a fairly young woman with sleepy dark eyes and dark hair that had been hastily and messily pulled back.

 

“Agent,” she greeted Paha. “I hope you don't mind if I still call you that? Or Cipher? It seems easiest.”

 

“As long as you don't mind my still calling you 'Keeper,'” Paha answered smoothly. From what little Paha could see of her attire, she was similarly robed, the first time Paha had ever seen her in less than her full uniform. “I'm sorry, I woke you. What time is it there? You're in Kaas City?”

 

“Yes, and it's oh-three-thirty-seven,” Shara answered. “They give me five hours for sleep a night; compared to what I used to get, it's so much time I sometimes think I don't know what to do with myself.”

 

Her quick eye flicked over Paha's casual clothing, softer and filmier than her more utilitarian wrap. “Night there, too?” she inquired, carefully not asking for details on Paha's location, or implying she knew what it was.

 

“Not exactly.” The corner of Paha's mouth twitched slightly.  In regards to her small crew, the events on Corellia had revealed her clandestine marriage to Vector, pledged in the unlikely location of the ship's cargo hold, but that had occurred after the dismantling of Imperial Intelligence. Without the insight of the Minders, the Intelligence psychologists Paha had guessed were Force-sensitive, and with the more pressing urgency of dismantling the Cabal, it was only guesswork as to whether this detail had come to Keeper's attention - or even if it mattered, now that Paha was a free agent.

 

Shara had had long practice in keeping her thoughts and emotions from showing on her face, but nonetheless, there was a softening of knowing amusement around her eyes. “Right,” she said evenly.

 

 _Oh yes_ , Paha thought, suppressing a smirk, _Shara knows exactly where I am, and what I'm doing, and who I'm doing it with_. The notion didn't bother her as much as it once might have, back when she worried there would be official interference regarding how she spent her off-duty hours.

 

Paha didn't harbor illusions on how much Intelligence knew about her, whether they admitted it or not. She had guessed long ago, before it was plundered by the Sith, that the higher-ups of Intelligence – Keeper, the Minister of Intelligence, perhaps a few Minders or Watchers – were quite aware of how matters stood between herself and Vector. The _Phantom_ was an Intelligence ship by rights, even if they had let Paha abscond with it following the defeat of the Star Cabal with hardly more than a wink and a smile; in the ensuing upheaval, the Sith would simply be forced to accept that some assets and resources had been misplaced. On her part, she had philosophically accepted that there was likely at least one tracking beacon secreted on the ship, and probably more. She wouldn't be at all surprised to learn that the remnants of Intelligence – Keeper, at least – had kept tabs on its location and the locations of the crew. Frankly, if they weren't, then they were falling down on the job pretty severely.

 

“I'm sorry to interrupt your honeymoon,” Keeper continued, instantly confirming all of Paha's suspicions, “but we've been keeping busy on this end with tracking down the members of the Star Cabal who escaped or weren't present on the Star Chamber.”

 

“How's that going?” Paha inquired. She could feel her old automatic professionalism sliding back into place, detached but interested, and burying the half-revolted, half-excited feeling that sank in her stomach.

 

“Pretty well, honestly. A minor fortune in credits to bounty hunters is a small price to pay to get our hands on these criminals. The few remaining spies we have planted in the Republic report similar successes there, although our information is sadly incomplete when it comes to planets like Tython, since it is entirely in the hands of the Jedi.”

 

“Good news,” Paha nodded, sipping at the dregs of her cold tea, “and I can tell you're pleased about it. So why are you getting in touch with me? Not just to update me on everyone who has been arrested, surely.”

 

“Of course not,” Keeper replied with a small shake of her head. “I've got one here that I think needs your particular touch – a lead on one of the Star Cabal's inner circle, but it is vague. We don't know his name – or her name, as the case may be; all of the Cabal's records that we have so far decrypted refer to this person only as The Fund. From what we have been able to uncover, he has the sole responsibility for the Cabal's monetary transactions and financial holdings – and they have a lot. Investments, stocks, speculations, corporate interests, junk bonds, short sales – his bank accounts have bank accounts, and he is an expert at hiding all of it. We haven't cracked a fraction of his system, but it is safe to say he has an embezzlement and money laundering operation that spans the Empire, the Republic, the Corporations, and the Hutt Cartels. If there is a white-collar crime he hasn't committed yet, it's only because he thinks it not worth his while.”

 

“That's impressive,” Paha observed impartially, “but you know I'm not an expert in financial maneuverings. Isn't this more of a Watcher's detail?”

 

“It is – but I'm coming to that,” Keeper conceded. “Based on what records we have been able to trace – for those accounts we actually know about, that is: After you took out the Cabal's headquarters, there has been no recent activity at all on any of the accounts we've flagged – until now. Not quite four days ago, an old tap leftover from surveillance on the Eagle's network noted three transfers of small amounts. The transactions appeared entirely unrelated until Watcher Three caught it in a cross-reference to what Cabal records we have catalogued. We don't see a pattern to the movements yet, but it may be a prelude to something bigger. Or The Fund might just be testing things out to see if anyone is watching.”

 

"You could always freeze the accounts and seize the contents," Paha suggested.

 

"We will, if it comes to that, but then The Fund will return to cover, and there's no telling if or when he'll ever resurface.  He's clearly skilled enough that he could rebuild his fortune - and maybe start all of this all over again.  I'm not willing to risk that yet. That's also why I'm reluctant to bring this to any of our more volatile compatriots." Keeper frowned a little, and there was no need to guess who she meant. "Based on the records we have here, the accounts are anonymously held, and if someone goes in making noisy demands to see the confidential ledgers, then we might as well send The Fund an embossed letter of intent."

 

"Ah," said Paha.  "But if someone were to perform, say, a discrete investigation..."

 

"...we'd bring down another member of the Star Cabal, and have full legal standing for that account seizure you mentioned.  When the government confiscates that much money from private sources, it makes waves - angry ones.  In the current climate, we certainly don't need any ugly rumors of imminent economic collapse, and we can't cover up something of this magnitude." Keeper made an uncharacteristic huffing sound and groused, “If only I had access to the resources we had at the old Intelligence!”

 

“Problems with the reorganization?” Paha surmised obliquely.

 

“Something like that. I'm sure you understand,” Keeper answered carefully. She knew how Paha felt about the over-reaching Sith power struggles that perpetually undermined the Empire, wasting good people on foolish self-aggrandizement. “We're in a tough position; our hands aren't completely tied, but they're close. We have to work with what resources we have already in place; we don't have the capacity to plant new wiretaps to expand our net – and our net has plenty of holes in it now.  But we'll make do.

 

“Of course, I can't order you to do anything, Cipher, and I understand if you wash your hands of this,” Keeper conceded fairly. Keeper, Paha knew very well, had her own psychological demons inflicted upon her by the Star Cabal; she would indeed understand if Paha was reluctant to re-engage hers. “But I thought you might want to know, or at least have the ability to decide for yourself what you would like to do about it. I am sending you what little information we have.”

 

Keeper's image broke eye contact as she glanced down to tap a few buttons, out of sight of the holoterminal on her end. The data console below Paha's holoterminal chirped, acknowledging an incoming transmission of files.

 

“I am going to be honest here, Cipher,” she continued, and as she raised her head to return her holographic gaze to meet Paha's, Paha was struck with a rather uncomfortable feeling of being unable to decide whether it was Keeper or Shara staring back at her. “There is another reason you might be interested in this. The credit transfer requests, and the accounts linked to The Fund - they're all on Jurio.”

 

Paha kept herself to blinking only once in surprise. “Jurio!” she repeated quietly. She was silent a second or two, mulling over the ramifications of that revelation, before adding, “You're right, that _is_ interesting.”

 

“Maybe it's only a coincidence. Maybe not. It may have no significance at all.” Keeper inclined her head. “I'm sorry, again, for cutting short your vacation. Keeper out.”

 

\- - - -

 

Paha sat before the dark holoterminal, motionless but for turning her empty tea cup in her hands, with the data from Keeper displayed, read, and re-read on a pad laying on the table before her. The last thing Keeper said – _sorry for cutting short your vacation_ – played back in her mind. Clearly Keeper assumed that, despite her supposedly putting the decision for action in her agent's hands, Paha would take up the mantle and the mission, hunting The Fund and exposing whatever it was he now aimed to do. She was probably right, damn it all.

 

She glanced again at the datapad, but didn't pick it up. It was a _phenomenal_ amount of money, a truly colossal financial latticework. It would have to be, to support an undertaking like the Star Cabal, and these were just the accounts that had been uncovered so far. When something as conspiratorial and big as the Star Cabal failed, what would be done with its funding? It was a staggering degree of wealth to fall suddenly into one person's hands, without the cause the Star Cabal embodied, or without the Cabal's oversight for the money's use. What would a person do with that many credits?

 

If The Fund and the Cabal's finances had been uncovered from a old tap on the Eagle, the terrorist which had received the bulk of his funding from the Alderaan noble House of Cortess, then the Cabal almost certainly had direct ties to House Cortess as well, as it had many of the Alderaanian nobility, on all sides of the civil war there. And House Cortess' funding had been but a front for Darth Jadus, the Dark Council member who sought to be Emperor – who would have been, had he not been served his defeat at Paha's hand, when she had been Cipher Nine. Were Jadus and the Cabal linked?

 

Paha frowned. Jadus could not have been a member of the Star Cabal. He was a Sith, a Force-user, abhorrent to the underdog egalitarianism that had been the central tenet of the Cabal. But that didn't necessarily mean that he hadn't been manipulated by them. Jadus had wanted to topple the Emperor from his throne, and set himself up as the new Imperial overlord, with promises of equal treatment for aliens and all. Not all that different from half the Star Cabal's goals, really - they had just been broader in scope. She had always assumed that Jadus' far-reaching ambitions were solely the brainchild of the usual Sith hubris, but it was possible that he had been manipulated by the Cabal in the same manner as so many others had.

 

Not, of course, that it mattered now. All this wondering and speculation on something long past was pointless, when there was much more in the present that needed her attention. And Vector's attention. Was it _really_ just coincidence that the trail to the Cabal's Fund led straight to Vector's native planet? Paha had been able to wipe out the electronic records of herself and her associates, but there wasn't anything she could do to wipe the minds of those who had good reason to remember her.

 

“Paha?” As if on cue, Vector's inquisitive voice drifted through the open door of the conference room. Something had changed, he saw at once: a veneer of professional caution and wariness veiled and restrained the aura that had been blissfully unfettered, undaunted by the thunderstorm of mere hours earlier, and it troubled him as he stepped through the hatch. “What are you doing in here?”

 

She gave him a tepid smile that did not extend to her eyes, and, as his gaze fell on the datapad on the table, Vector had the sneaking certainty that, six weeks or no, their honeymoon was most assuredly over.

 

“Have a seat,” Paha invited. “I've got something to tell you.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No notes but this:
> 
> To JM, X-Wing pilot, Rebel Fleet Trooper, and Jedi: _The Force will be with you. Always._


	8. Imperial Interests

Vector propped an elbow on the conference room table, resting his chin on backs of his fingers. His prediction had been accurate, sadly; confirmed in a glance from Paha as she issued a quick command to Toovee regarding breaking down the camp before briefing him.

 

“Jurio,” he repeated after a moment. “Keeper is quite sure?”

 

He had justification for maintaining some skepticism where Imperial Intelligence was concerned. For all that Paha believed that Vector was the more forgiving of the pair of them, he yet harbored some deep reservations towards Intelligence due to the callous disregard it had displayed for one of its most elite operatives.

 

“I don't think she would have contacted me if she weren't.” Paha flicked through a screen on the datapad. “It seems the financial holdings are distributed across a few institutions in a city named... Djircelle. Do you know it?” She flicked her eyes to him, and then raised her head more fully at the sight of his disquieted countenance.

 

“We would say we know it very well,” he admitted, his voice sober and even. “We grew up there. Or rather, in the suburbs outside it. Our parents still live there. Our sister, too, the last we heard.”

 

Paha set down the datapad, rather more quickly than she had intended, at this unexpected information. “I didn't know you had a sister.”

 

Vector looked uncomfortable. “She... took our Joining especially hard.”

 

For a moment, Paha considered pressing him to tell her more, but she restrained the urge. It was an old wound, clearly, and one that had not healed well, if at all, based on the dark and remote look in Vector's eyes, and as such would be best part of a conversation that didn't revolve around missions, schemes, and strategy.

 

“What,” Paha inquired, breaking the silence, “can you tell me about Djircelle?”

 

Vector pulled himself out of his unpleasant reverie, raising his head and scrubbing his hand across his jaw before answering.

 

“It isn't, technically, the capital of Jurio, but in many ways, it might as well be,” he said. “We are not surprised that the Cabal would have holdings there: it is a major center of corporate and personal finance for the Imperial Outer Rim. It acts as a hub; transactions from all over the region are relayed through it to Dromund Kaas or to other hubs of the Empire. The reverse is true as well.”

 

“How did it get to be so important?” Paha wondered. “From what I know, Jurio hasn't been part of the Empire very long.”

 

“Not quite thirty years,” Vector confirmed. “Prior to that, it was unaligned, and suffered from an ineffective government, runaway inflation, and widespread rioting. Faced with total loss of planetary control, the Jurian government essentially abdicated to Imperial forces, who re-established peace and organized Jurio into an Imperial protectorate until it was brought fully into the Empire shortly after. Jurio required substantial reconstruction: decades of neglect, poverty, violence... Imperial occupation put an end to these things. In fact,” Vector's voice changed slightly as made an aside, “that is how our father and mother met.”

 

Paha's eyebrows rose.

 

“Our father, Captain Adronik Hyllus, was part of the Imperial force sent to pacify Jurio. Our mother, Sessali, was a native,” he explained. He straightened his spine a little, setting aside his personal memories. “But this does not answer your question. The Empire recognized it had an excellent opportunity to construct a loyal world from the ground up, and they did so, with a competence and efficiency that was unmatched to the people of Jurio. Almost overnight, Jurio became a world transformed, and a symbol of Imperial prowess and largess.”

 

“During the early stages of the Great Galactic War,” Paha recalled, “the Sith warlords were bent on domination of the Outer Rim. But conquering territory, and keeping it – or better yet, keeping it _useful_ – are quite different things. Having a happily rebuilt planet held up as a beacon to other claimed worlds of the Outer Rim... you did once say that symbols were powerful things.”

 

“Very,” nodded Vector. “Native representatives from other planets came to Jurio to see for themselves the benefits of Imperial allegiance. Eventually, the internal stability and prosperity enticed the notice of corporations and investors. Imperial governors used Jurio to spread influence to surrounding systems and sectors, both politically and financially. Thanks to the Empire, Jurio had the most advanced and secure communications links in five sectors, or more, and both businesses and individuals seeking to guard their holdings from theft or war began to funnel all transactions through Jurio, or moved their finances there entirely. Mostly through the massive banking servers in Djircelle. Djircelle recovered fastest; it was where Imperial reconstruction was first focused.”

 

“Not in the capital?” Paha queried, her brows drawing together quizzically.

 

“It was judged as almost a total loss. The Empire chose to focus their initial efforts on Djircelle, where the congregation of refugees created a greater humanitarian crisis.”

 

“And a greater opportunity for those works to be seen and appreciated by both the natives and the broader galaxy at large,” Paha mused cynically. Vector raised an eyebrow.

 

“Vector, we both know that no bureaucracy ever does anything solely from the goodness of its heart,” she pointed out pragmatically. There was an even more dubious reason for the Empire effectively ignoring the Jurio capital: that symbolism she had just mentioned. A rebuilt Djircelle owed everything to the Empire; the gem of the planet would be truly an Imperial city. Rebuilding the old capital might summon up in its people confusing ideas of native jingoistic pride that conflicted with a burgeoning Imperial allegiance as old ruins were flattened for new structures.

 

“And,” she added, “if a little bit of positive propaganda encourages people to focus on the ways the Empire has improved their lives...”

 

“True,” he admitted, but Vector's concession of the point was interrupted by Toovee's metal feet clomping up to the conference room hatch.

 

“Master, I have finished gathering up the camp supplies. What next may I do for you?” inquired the droid officiously.

 

“Please check the engine status; we will be departing as soon as the ship is ready.” She turned her attention back to Vector with a sigh. Her professional detachment faded somewhat, loosening its bands of restraint around her aura, which took on hues of a soft and genuine ruefulness. “I hate to leave.”

 

“As do we,” he agreed. But as much as they regretted it, the information from Keeper made its necessity obvious.

 

“Shall we take one last look around?” he inquired, rising and holding out his hand to her. She took it without a word, and followed him outside.

 

The storm, long passed, had wiped the heavens clean, and the sun was sliding down a sky the color of brilliant amethysts to the garnet sea. The grasses and flowers had bounced back, and now waved and nodded, as though they were saying farewell, with the ruffle of passing evening breezes. Paha pulled her satiny robe about her more securely, and leaned against Vector as they watched the final journey of the sun.

 

“And so it ends as it began,” Paha murmured with a sigh. “You, me, and a sunset.”

 

“But we know it will always be here, waiting for us,” Vector replied gently. “And it will always be here –” He kissed her brow softly. “– and here –” He took her hand in his own, and laid them entwined over her heart. “– and here.” He bowed his head and brushed her lips tenderly.

 

“These we will have forever.”

 

\- - - -

 

"What is the population of Djircelle like?" Paha inquired as the Phantom coasted upward through the Xaastu atmosphere. Her attention flicked between engine readouts, star chart holograms, and computer displays, but the attention she nonetheless also gave the question made it less innocuous than it initially seemed. "Racially speaking," she clarified.

 

"Human, largely,” Vector said from his position at the next console. He could tell by the way she contemplated the star map that she was debating the best route; Jurio and the Corva Sector was, quite literally, on the opposite side of the galaxy from Xaastu and the Bajic Sector. They could hardly have been further from their destination than their current position. “A handful of Twi'lek, mostly in service and entertainment. Not as cosmopolitan as Dromund Kaas."

 

"That's saying something," Paha observed wryly. The ship lifted itself free of the pull of Xaastu's gravity and Paha came to a decision.

 

"The Hydian Way," she declared, referring to one of the major trade corridors that spanned the galaxy. Well-traveled, free of deep space hazards, safe from marauders and pirates – but, for all that, not without its own particular threat.

 

Vector's eyebrows crept up his brow. "We're certain you've factored this in to your plan," he answered, "but we would still like to point out the route goes right through Republic space. More critically, right through the Core. Even more critically: straight to Coruscant."

 

"And we have a ship outfitted with the most advanced stealth shielding module in the Empire,” Paha returned, and the little sparkle twinkling in her eye did not pass Vector's observation unnoticed.

 

“Hm. We think she was right: You _do_ enjoy this,” he asserted. It was a risky comment; he was clearly making a reference to Hunter's final speech, and it would be well within understanding if she took injury from it. Their time on Xaastu, however, had relaxed and restored her so much that he felt fairly secure in his speech; he knew, too, how much she disliked the appearance of frailty, and she would be the first to say that she couldn't expect to live the rest of her life hiding from anything that reminded her of her old arch-enemy. Better for her to come to confront those things slowly, in a safe space with him, than at random in a broader arena. It wasn't an incorrect assessment; there was the barest stutter in her aura, and then the saucy glint in her eyes flared all the brighter.

 

“Maybe,” she answered in a tone that indicated the answer was much more positive than the word alone implied. She sobered a little, and pointed out, “And to circle the Outer Rim will add at least twenty thousand parsecs to the trip.”

 

"And we suppose there is little point in stopping at Nar Shaddaa to attempt to find the others – if they are even still there, which we rather doubt."

 

"I don't think we can afford the time to look, honestly.” Paha put her head to one side as one console, set to troll through records of certain planetary arrivals and departures. “Although... I do think I will make a very small detour."

 

She pointed to a readout on the computer console. "Look at who has hiding been on Tatooine for the past three months."

 

Vector looked, and made a small sound of amused understanding. "Fa'athra the Hutt. That old crook. What are we to do with him?"

 

"We need help, and Intelligence isn't in position to provide it."

 

"He does owe you a favor, certainly," Vector said. "If he doesn't renege."

 

"If he knows what's good for him, he won't," Paha replied as she began programming the navicomputer. A few seconds later, there was the odd push-pull feeling of stretching and compression as the stars beyond the screen of the Phantom smeared with the jump to hyperspace.

 

"What we need is some way to move about on Jurio discreetly," Paha said, at leisure to talk more directly now that the ship was under way and requiring less of her direct control. Queer, ephemeral clouds of eerie blue and ultraviolet, wavelengths of light flickering from the compressing past, streaked in a twisting tube before the ship screen.

 

Vector understood at once. If The Fund, or any of the Cabal's lackeys, were on Jurio, they would almost certainly have been long before alerted to the danger posed by a Chiss female and a human Joiner male. On a largely human planet, their arrival would draw unwanted attention – and that didn't begin to factor in the ever-present holocams in most Imperial cities.

 

"Unfortunate," he shook his head, thinking. "While you were having your final meeting with the Minister of Intelligence, we asked Fixer Twelve if we might have one or two of the Cabal's holodisguises – the sort that Hunter used so effectively – if he could get them, as Intelligence catalogued the contents of the Star Chamber. We intended to surprise you,” he added with an upward quirk of the corner of his mouth. An odd present, perhaps, but one she would have appreciated heartily.

 

"Good idea – _very_ good idea," Paha nodded thoughtfully, but the hint of violet tinting her cheeks and the warm, rosy flush in her aura told him that she was more touched by his thoughtfulness than her words implied.

 

“We haven't heard anything from him since, so he might not have been able to. On the other hand, we have been somewhat... out of touch of late." Either his verbal expression or the half-sly look on his face prompted the color in her face to slip into a slightly darker shade.

 

"Too bad,” she said. “But with luck, Fa'athra might have something we could use – and will be in a position to give it to us."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Lots of research for this chapter, and most information on Vector and Jurio is scanty, in spite of scouring the in-game codex, the TOR Encyclopedia, and Wookiepedia.
> 
> The game establishes that Vector's father is Adronik, who was a captain in the Imperial military when it was sent to Jurio. His mother's name is not mentioned. They met then and wed, and, according to the TORE, Vector was [born 3666 BBY](http://starwars.wikia.com/wiki/Adronik_Hyllus). The dossier on Vector supplied in the codex indicates he is 26 (at the time of meeting the Agent); I've construed the plot to occur over roughly a year, making him about 27, or possibly just turned 28, by the time of the takedown of the Star Cabal, which, accordingly, must occur about 3639 BBY (for comparison, the Sacking of Coruscant occurred 3653 BBY, 14 years prior to the end of the main agent plot).
> 
> Vector's birth year, occurring after the Imperial military arrived on Jurio, means that the Imperial military (and his father) must have arrived on Jurio roughly 30 years ago, and Jurio must have become part of the Empire about 25-29 years ago. Details on this are not given, but it makes sense that it would have been a protected territory first, and, after reconstruction got underway, became a full Imperial world.
> 
> Additionally, in the post-main story expansions, the undercover SIS agent planted in Sith Intelligence, Rane Kovach, is described as having been sent to Jurio to infiltrate dissident groups and foment revolution. The [Wookiepedia entry](http://starwars.wikia.com/wiki/Jurio) that describes this does not indicate when this occurred - at first, I thought he was part of the chaos 30 years ago before Imperial pacification. If Rane were at least 50 years old, it would be possible (his age isn't given) - although it doesn't make sense for him to work to stir up the very revolution that caused the Empire's takeover (an error on the part of SIS, perhaps?). It seems more likely that, considering he is now actively infiltrated into Sith Intelligence, his activities on Jurio probably occurred 15 - 25 years ago, placing them during reconstruction, which would have been a vulnerable time for Jurio and the Empire.
> 
> The game also establishes that Vector's observations of the efficient Imperial reconstruction of Jurio influenced him favorably toward the Empire, leading him to join the Diplomatic Corps. While he could have deduced this retroactively, it may also indicate that active reconstruction must have taken some time - probably at least a decade, particularly if Rane Kovach was hindering efforts. All of this implies that reconstruction efforts must have been extensive - the result of years of strife and disarray. The people of Jurio would, then, indeed be glad to welcome the organizing influence of the Empire, and generally willingly accept new allegiance. 
> 
> No information on the capitol or any cities of Jurio, or even its general climate or planetary topography has been supplied, based on anything I could find. Djircelle is a city of my own invention, but I didn't want to make it the capitol in case I just had missed the information. I needed, too, a compelling reason to force the characters to go there, and it made sense that Imperial reconstruction efforts would so profoundly stabilize and transform the planet that these benefits would attract a lot of attention and interest - hence: financial hub. With Imperial efforts focused on Djircelle, Adronik would likely have been posted there, so his wife and eventual children would have lived there, as well.
> 
> 2\. Paha's information that the in the early years of the war, the Sith focused on Outer Rim domination [is accurate](http://starwars.wikiaglobal.com/wiki/Third_battle_of_the_Seswenna_sector).
> 
> 3\. By taking the [Hydian Way](http://vignette4.wikia.nocookie.net/starwars/images/4/4b/Outer_Rim_Sectors.jpg/revision/latest?cb=20090911072222), Paha is indeed being pretty damn bold. The Bajic Sector isn't shown on this map, but it's down near the Cegal and Subterrel Sectors.
> 
> 4\. Based on the map above, the Star Wars galaxy is around 55,000 - 60,000 parsecs across in total; Xaastu to Jurio is probably about 45,000 - 50,000 parsecs. A simple C=πd calculation, divided by 2 for half the circumference of the galaxy, is about 75,000 parsecs - Paha's a little low on her estimate that going through Hutt space will add twenty thousand parsecs to the trip. It's really more like 25,000. But she's close enough that the point still stands.
> 
> 5\. Blue/ultraviolet light during hyperspace: I figure it's sort of like a visual Doppler effect - moving towards the source has the effective result of shortening the wavelength (normally, Doppler is for just sound waves; I'm just applying it to light). Shorter wavelengths of visible light are blue to purple, and would then shift to the ultraviolet part of the spectrum.


	9. Fa'athra's Favor

Fa'athra the Hutt evidently felt that Tatooine, unkempt dirtball though it may be, was a suitable location to begin the reconstruction of his fortune, and he was, all things considered, off to a decent enough start, particularly for being only three months into his new venture. He had managed to set himself up as a middleman in the spice trade, and while business wasn't good – by his standards – it certainly wasn't terrible, either.

 

He had, via methods not entirely legal, taken possession of an old warehouse that conveniently connected to a series of tunnels cut into the cliff walls of a small, wind-swept canyon cut like a gash into a massive bank of reddish brown sandstone on the fringes of the Jundland wastes. The warehouse, stocked with moisture evaporators and parts for repairs, provided a convenient and suitable front for the less legitimate trade that occurred in the back chambers.

 

Paha strode boldly up to the narrow personnel hatch set off-center in the solid metal high bay door, yanked out her vibroblade, and pounded the butt of its hilt solidly against the barrier. The harsh clanging sound reverberated off the stone cliffs, filling the canyon with strident metallic echoes that faded quite slowly but had nearly died completely before a tiny pocket window, barely fifteen centimeters square, was shoved roughly open beside the personnel hatch. In the poorly-lit dimness beyond where the shutter had been appeared the face of a snaggle-toothed Mirialan male, with pock-marked skin of a rather sickly pale olive hue.

 

"The extraordinary and munificent Fa'athra the Hutt is not at home to visitors!" the Mirialan porter snapped peremptorily. Paha bestowed upon him her most charmingly authoritative smile, one that Vector recognized as holding a particular current of lethality beneath it.

 

"Tell Fa'athra that an old friend is here to see him,” Paha commanded smoothly. “Someone from Voss that he has good reason to remember."

 

The Mirialan, showing his uneven teeth in an unpleasant grimace, made a sort of sneeringly obsequious nod and slammed the pocket window shut. Several minutes passed.

 

“How long do we give them?” Vector asked, unconcernedly watching a sandhawk wheeling overhead.

 

“Oh, at least a bit longer,” Paha shrugged, nonchalantly leaning a shoulder against the high bay door. “I'm sure they want to give us a _proper_ welcome. It would be rude if we barged in before they were ready for us.”

 

“We certainly can't have that," he commented, his deadpan tone belied by the shadow of a droll grin.

 

The shutter covering the window slid sharply open again.

 

"The extraordinary and munificent Fa'athra bids me tell you he does not know you,” the Mirialan scoffed jeeringly. “However, you are permitted to leave a message to petition the extraordinary Fa'athra to favor you with his attention. When he returns, he may deign to address it."

 

"Very communicative, for a Hutt that's not at home," Vector observed with placid imperturbability.

 

"Quite," Paha agreed. Did Fa'athra actually think that a flouting little toady like this was going to succeed in turning her away? She took a quick step forward and slammed her open palm against the bay door. Something metal in her hand clanged loudly at the impact, ringing through the canyon, and she waited a theatrical moment, her nose not twenty centimeters from the Mirialan porter's, before saying sweetly, "I am sorry to hear that Fa'athra doesn't remember me. He likely will now, as that was the sound of a thermal detonator being attached to your door. I'm sure you will be pleased to tell him so."

 

The porter's eyes widened and bulged, and he jerked back from the pocket window, turning to exchange a few quiet but extremely intense words with someone behind him. A few seconds later, he was back, looking no less calm.

 

"The extraordinary and munificent Fa'athra condescends to hear the words of so bold a petitioner in person!" he exclaimed, his voice growing wilder by the word. The device beneath Paha's hand chirped ominously. "Just disarm it! Get it off our door! Please!"

 

Paha beamed at him with a bright smile of false innocence for a moment before pulling her hand away.

 

"Thank you. We are honored that the great Fa'athra will permit us an audience."

 

The Mirialan opened the door, and as Paha and Vector stepped into the cool, dim interior, Paha nonchalantly tossed the device in her hand to the shaken porter, who bobbled it several times before securing it between his trembling fingers. Without pausing in her stride, she nodded to an armed but nervous-looking Kel Dor guardsman and sailed on down the broad hall, littered with stacks of crates and merchandise. A moment later, in Paha's wake, an aggrieved howl of frustration, dismay, and chagrin erupted from the Mirialan doorman.

 

"A holocommunicator?!"

 

"Keep it," Paha hollered back over her shoulder. She caught a glimpse of Vector's face; he was chewing the insides of his cheeks to keep from bursting out in laughter. "It's a burner anyway. I don't need it."

 

Fa'athra the Hutt might have come down in the galaxy since his days on Nal Hutta, but, despite his whiny ways, he wasn't generally a one to stay down for long. While his warehouse wasn't by any measure comparable to his palatial estate on Hutta, it was nonetheless comfortable, decorated to Hutt taste – that is, ostentatiously – as much as was affordable in his reduced circumstances and well-staffed. He had used his time since Voss very well.

 

His more immediately recent time, since Paha had pounded on his door, had been spent in scuttling some of his more valuable items out of sight. No sense, thought Fa'athra, in letting the blue Red Blade think he had more than he did, and he would much rather prefer her to think he had significantly less. He rapidly settled himself on his lounger and assumed an air of competence and faintly apologetic attention as Paha entered the broad chamber that stood as both his entertaining parlor and front office.

 

"Hello, Fa'athra," Paha opened civilly. "I was passing through, and hoped you wouldn't object to a friendly visit. Finding the door shut against me was deeply wounding to my heart."

 

"A misunderstanding, I assure you, a misunderstanding only." Fa'athra answered, his gravelly Huttese taking on a tone that was just shy of outright whinging. “I will ensure my staff more clearly comprehends me next time.”

 

"Oh, no doubt; I understand that so powerful personage as you can't be too careful of who he permits within his doors," Paha said with easy graciousness. On Voss, when she had spared Fa'athra's life in spite of his attempt to have her murdered, she had realized even then that the Hutt had the potential to be a useful, if somewhat unreliable, ally. That usefulness would be considerably diminished if he lost his authority – enforced by respect, fear, or both – over his underlings and wound up dead because of it.

 

Fa'athra wasn't stupid; he knew her skills. She would not have walked in here without knowing exactly what it would take to fight her way out, if that were necessary. She had the upper hand here, but from her little speech, he saw, too, that she had no wish to undermine him in front of his subordinates. For that, he realized with sudden insight, he owed her some strange gratitude: he saw she genuinely wanted him to succeed, and she wouldn't destroy his fledgling work here unless he forced her hand. Paha would let him have the leeway to rebuild as he saw fit, so long as he paid lip service to the leash she held him on. It was bruising to his pride, but he didn't, after all, have enough of that for it to interfere with a good business proposition.

 

"I am always eager to assist a friend," Fa'athra spread his stubby-fingered arms in a gesture of welcome. "Please, sit, eat and drink, and tell me your business."

 

"Thank you," Paha answered, seating herself regally in the plush armchair swiftly set out for her. Vector opted to stand close behind her. She lifted her chin slightly, smiling, and began. "I was sure your generosity would be as great as your wealth and power, mighty Fa'athra. I come to you with two requests. I have need, first of all, of two personal holographic disguise devices. Second, I require a ship communication energy shrouding module, tuned to current Republic signatures."

 

"Done," Fa'athra said immediately. Paha, instantly suspicious, eyed him intently, and Vector casually stepped into the space beside her chair. Her gaze flicked to Vector, and he gave her an almost imperceptible nod, keeping his hands clasped indifferently before him. Fa'athra was being genuine, and the Hutt turned to a Twi'lek woman standing attentively nearby. "Bielle, fetch two holographic disguises – the good ones, not the ones we sell to those Exchange akk dogs. The rest of you, leave us. I wish to speak with my guest in private."

 

The room emptied in seconds, and Paha narrowed her eyes. "What's the catch, Fa'athra? I am giving you the benefit of the doubt that you aren't dumb enough to double-cross me."

 

"No," answered Fa'athra in Huttese. "You spared my life: it is a debt, and I honor mine. We made a deal. I don't have a ship device of the kind you want."

 

"And you don't want you subordinates to know," Vector surmised.

 

Fa'athra's sluggish face creased more deeply into a sarcastic frown. "Of course not. But... I do know where you can get one."

 

At Paha's gesture, he continued, "Wyvenod. He is a rival merchant; a competitor for... certain commodities in which I have interest. He has a warehouse in Anchorhead. Deals in ship parts. If anyone had one, it would be him."

 

"I doubt you are looking to expand into the freighter maintenance and repair industry," Paha asserted dryly.

 

“I am not,” Fa'athra said. “But Wyvenod isn't happy that I drove him out of the moisture farming market.”

 

“And his warehouse,” Vector added astutely.

 

“Er... yes.” Fa'athra's oversized eyes slid between the two of them. “You go to Wyvenod, you'll get your part. I secure my establishment here. I am then in better position to continue to support you. We both get what we want; this is good business.”

 

There was a tap at the door, and Bielle, the Twi'lek, entered, set down two wide wrist cuffs on the table, bowed deeply, and scuttled silently away.

 

“Fine,” Paha agreed, rising from the chair. “We'll do your dirty work. But we take the disguises _before_ we go. Anchorhead will be a test ground. If they don't hold up, Wyvenod doesn't go out of business.”

 

“Understood,” Fa'athra inclined his head, as much as his neckless jowls permitted. “These are the best I have, but they are not the best in the galaxy. No voice alteration programming, but decent for visuals. At two meters, they're fine. At one, someone might notice something is off. As for touching...”

 

“I get it,” said Paha, taking the devices and handing one to Vector. “We'll let you know when it's done.”

 

\- - - -

 

Vector raised his head as the sound of Paha's snickering drifted through the door of the lavatory of the Mos Anek cantina, the only place she had been able to locate a mirror to inspect the suitability of Fa'athra's holodisguises.

 

“That good?” he inquired.

 

“That _bad_ ,” she said, chuckling. “You know how I said I'd never have human eyes or human skin?”

 

“We remember. There's isn't much that would make us forget it,” he replied, his mind leaping to the recollection of their exchange of vows.

 

“Well, brace yourself. You're about to see me as exactly that.”

 

The door hissed open and she stepped out, still smirking. “I look _terrible_ ,” she said, her glance flicking down over the weird pale-pink tones of her altered skin. Her short indigo hair was effaced by a messy mop of red curls pinned on her head in careless piles, and a scattering of freckles dotted her cheeks and nose. Her eyes, he saw as she raised them, were a clear gray-blue.

 

“Not _that_ terrible,” he opined. Her eyes widened, and there was an odd ripple of uncertainty in her aura. Signs, he knew, of her old complex, an angry fear of being forever inferior to humans – most especially in terms of attractiveness.

 

“But not yourself,” he added reassuringly, reaching out a hand to her.  He stopped short of touching her, however; his skin appeared oddly dark to him, suddenly arresting his motion as the actions of a body not his own, and he kept imagining that the increased length and shaggy arrangement of his new medium brown hair was tickling his cheekbones, although that could only be a figment of his imagination, constructed by the sight of the unfamiliar strands swinging before his eyes.

 

“I could say the same,” she said, running an assessing eye over him. His own eyes – now looking all human, with white scleras and green irises – were disconcerting to look into; their comforting abyssal black completely hidden. “This is weird,” she muttered, all her amusement fallen away. “Hearing your voice coming out of someone that doesn't look anything like you. It's... uncomfortable.”

 

“Probably more so for you,” he said sympathetically. “We have the advantage that no matter how your appearance changes, we can see your aura, and that is still all you, inside and out.”

 

He bent to give her a bolstering kiss – it was eerie and unnerving, feeling the familiar touch of her lips on his while seeing a face that was so entirely alien to him. She shivered a little, flustered by the strangeness that chilled her despite the desert heat, and their holographic veneers stuttered and fuzzed where they came into contact with each other.

 

“Ah,” Vector observed. “Now we know what happens when the field is interrupted. We see why Fa'athra warned against touching.”

 

A tiny wave of amusement twitched through Paha's aura, although it made no appearance on the stiff mask of her features. “And just like that,” she said loftily, sashaying past him to head for the door and their mission, “you give me all _kinds_ of wicked ideas.”

 

Vector was still contemplating the ramifications of that statement when their rented speeder came to a stop outside Anchorhead.

 


	10. Mission Mop Up

“Bielle.” Paha nodded to the tiny image of the Twi'lek woman shimmering above her hand-held holocommunicator. Safely beyond the reach of the Republic guards stationed around Anchorhead, she had felt secure enough to both contact her client as well as drop their disguises before doing so. “You can let Fa'athra know that Wyvenod isn't going to be a problem for his business interests any longer.”

 

The Twi'lek beamed. “Excellent news; just as we expected. Fa'athra has directed me to convey to you a small token of his appreciation. I have had it delivered to the spaceport at Mos Ila; there is no need to inconvenience yourself by coming all the way back here again.”

 

“Very considerate,” Paha answered, her mouth quirking. Truth be told, her desire to return to Fa'athra's warehouse was as negligible as his desire, evidently, to have her there. Valor was good enough thing, but often, discretion was better. “My best regards and highest thanks to Fa'athra, and please let him know I look forward to our next collaboration.”

 

“Of course,” Bielle nodded. “Good luck to you.”

 

Paha switched off her holo, and as she stowed it, she caught Vector's black eyes staring at her; she returned the look quizzically.

 

“Nothing,” he said, shaking his head. “At least, nothing discordant. We were only thinking how good it is to see you – _you_ , that is – and we found the thought amusing, since we have been with you – and yet not _you_ – all day.”

 

As a faint touch of pleased purple trickled up her cheeks, he extended his hands – blessedly, his own and familiar again – to let them rest on her waist, and left a kiss, half-playful and half-desiring, in the roots of her dust-coated hair.

 

“Was I really so unrecognizable?” The violet on the swells of her cheeks bobbed as she smiled, so dazzling and normal that it nearly took his breath away. He had been incorrect, he decided, in his earlier assessment: where he thought his ability to see her aura would ameliorate the foreignness of her altered appearance, the exact opposite, instead, proved true. Seeing the strong, elegant lines of her aura, almost mathematical in the precision of their patterns of biochemistry and feeling, swarming around a body that appeared to be so distinctly not her own was more confounding than he had anticipated, and it uncomfortably brought to mind memories of how she had appeared diminished and distorted under the influence of Imperial Intelligence's brainwashing program.

 

“No, but you pointed it out yourself: that's what made it so disorienting. But now all the stars and all the songs are back in their harmonies again.” His hands slipped down to her hips, and his voice likewise dropped to a softer register. “It makes all the sparks within us dance. Seeing you.”

 

Her smile went sly beneath the coals of her eyes. “I think I can do a bit better than just sparks,” she answered, tracing a fingertip or two along the hollow of his neck below his jaw, and she could feel the soundless rumble of happy anticipation in the depths of his chest underneath her other hand.

 

“But,” she added with a wry frown and a sigh, “we need to get this module installed on the ship first.”

 

Vector returned the look. “And, we suppose, get off Tatooine before the Republic begins investigating the fate of their parts dealer.”

 

“I _did_ try to negotiate,” Paha protested.

 

“With a sniper rifle!” he chuckled. “Our definition of the word is somewhat different, we think.”

 

“That was just to let him know that I was in the superior position, and not afraid to prove it,” she replied airily, tossing her leg over the speeder. “ _He_ chose to start the fight.”

 

“Regardless, we are glad you were the one who ended it,” Vector said in her ear as he took the pillion seat. He nestled his thighs securely behind hers and gave her a light squeeze as he slipped his arms around her. She glanced back at him, his chin nearly resting on her shoulder, and, with a flash of a grin, she revved the speeder and they shot off across the sandy waves of the desert wastes.

 

\- - - -

 

It took the better part of an hour to get the device installed, but at last, Paha, on her back, dug the heels of her boots into the deck plating and scooted out from beneath the bridge consoles.

 

“One Republic communication energy signature generator installed!” she announced with satisfaction. “We should be safe enough, even if we have to drop the stealth cloak. Going as close to Coruscant as we will be, I'm not interested in taking any chances.”

 

“Neither are we,” Vector answered. He had read diplomatic reports issued following the Sacking of Coruscant: a great number of restrictions had been placed on the corridors around the planet – limitations on hyperspace travel close to the planet had been expanded, for one, and had not been relaxed during the fourteen years that had passed since then. The stealth cloak was their best protection, but there was a great deal of wisdom in having a backup plan.

 

The power to half the bridge had been cut to enable Paha to perform the necessary work, and in consequence, the air handlers were not functioning at full capacity. Even within the sheltered shade of the spaceport, the aggressive heat accumulated, swelling and sweltering as it built around and within the ship. The bridge of the _Phantom_ was stuffy and humid; Paha's hair, untrimmed during their sojourn on Xaastu, clung limply to her damp face, and the prickle of sweat pooling against her skin made her feel like her shirt was plastered on.

 

Vector knelt down beside her and gently wiped a smudge of dirt from her brow with his thumb. The touch of his hand on her face was calming and cool and full of promise for things decidedly more exciting and warm, in a manner quite less fatiguing than the brutal heat of a Tatooine day.

 

“I know, I'm a mess,” she said, with a flimsy chuckle.

 

A mess, perhaps, but there was something undeniably enticing in the sight of her, disheveled and sprawled before him, just within reach of his fingers, which skimmed a trail down through the perspiration on the slope of her neck, over her slick collarbone, and down the soggy folds of her shirt to her hand, which he grabbed to lift her to her feet. Her hands were grimy, as were his own, from the dust of Tatooine, cemented in gritty lines across their skin by sweat that, outside, dried under the twin suns almost as quickly as it formed. Just the thought of the grubby, dehydrating environment made him long for the refreshment of a shower; he looked down at his filthy clothes and observed, “So are we,” then raised his dark and desirous gaze back to her.

 

Oh, the invitation in those eyes! Where all the rest of the galaxy just saw the void, those spheres of the deepest and all-encompassing black let her read in them so much else. Maybe it was the way the eyes of her own people similarly lacked human-like definition, with sclera, iris, pupil, and lens each clearly delineated from the other, that had accustomed her so quickly to his, and then made it easy for her to read more in them than most others could see. Maybe it was just that she had become nearly as adept at reading his aura as he was at reading hers, even without his Killik sight.

 

The glance she had automatically returned to him had already answered his question, but beneath its surface, he had seen the quirk of playfulness contained within and recognized its meaning. It wasn't, then, a surprise when, after she reached over to flip the hard switch to re-engage full power to the bridge, she flopped down askew in the captain's chair, tossing one leg in unmistakable suggestion over the arm of the seat, and tipped her head back in a wanton display of enjoyment as the air handlers above spat out a torrent of cool breezes.

 

“Divine,” she breathed, eyes closed but aware of how Vector must be looking at her, as she lay with her throat drawn and exposed from her chin down to where her half-buttoned shirt revealed a steamy valley of cerulean skin between her breasts.

 

Crossing the intervening distance in two steps, Vector leaned over her, bracing his hands on either side, one on the headrest and one on the cushioned arm of the seat, and bent to bring his face near hers. “You're simply teasing us now,” he accused.

 

One eye opened, cracking an impish gleam of scarlet. “What gave it away?”

 

“Everything. But we remind you that we're more than capable of returning the favor,” he replied, his hand sliding smoothly up her thigh to where the dampness of the trouser material might not have been solely due to Tatooine's heat. She wasn't the only one who knew how to tease. After a moment, he inquired, with extreme particularity of word choice as well as extreme nonchalance, “Are we ready to go?”

 

Paha had been trying hard not to squirm, and was aware it was a battle she was rapidly losing. “More than ready,” she answered with a blithe little gasp that was sufficient to prompt Vector to relent. Flashing him a coy simper, she swung her leg down into a more decorous pose and rapidly exchanged departure information with the Imperial traffic controllers, which was not as easy as a task as it normally was, she discovered, when her attention was being repeatedly diverted to whatever it was his deft fingers were doing beneath her damp shirt.

 

“You'll be sorry,” she threatened after switching off the comm, “if I end up crashing this thing.”

 

“Very,” he replied against the salt-streaked tract of skin behind her ear, but without stopping. She smelled of sweat and sand and adrenaline and he was aware he was much the same, and the thought of cleanliness – and all the various and delightful activities that might be performed while returning to that state – again filled his mind. “Meet us in the shower?”

 

“Ten minutes or less,” she promised, firing up the engines.

 

With one last caress, Vector straightened and, favoring her with a thoroughly indecent look, went ahead to the lavatory. Keen to address the eagerness racing through her blood, Paha had the _Phantom_ underway, its controls set to autopilot, and was sliding a seductive leg around the shower stall door before he had even finished rinsing Tatooine out of his hair.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally had this chapter and the next as one, but it ended up being too long, so I cut it at a natural break, but that ended up with this chapter being too short, at only about 1300 words, so then I decided I'd do a big re-write/edit on it to be more consistent, and then I had writer's block - blah blah blah, end result, yeah, it took me a week to get it all sussed out and I am still not entirely happy with it. It's a pretty empty chapter, honestly. The next one will be better.


	11. Expectations Are Weighty Things

It was several hours later that Paha stirred from a blissfully satisfied and restorative sleep to find herself alone in bed. She had a hazy recollection of Vector rising earlier, but had been entirely too limp in her languid drowsiness to properly register his motions; the memory returned to her dimly now, as she realized she was the room's, as well as the bed's, sole occupant. She slipped her satiny gray robe around her shoulders and on bare feet padded out of their quarters.

 

She discovered Vector sitting quite still on the bridge and unconsciously giving her the odd impression that he was strangely alone – more alone than she had ever thought him before, considering his link to the Oroboro Colony and, moreover, his link to her. He appeared so sunk in the occupation of his thoughts that he seemed entirely unaware of her presence until she came to stand beside him, her hand settling lightly enough on his shoulder that it did not startle him, lost in his own thoughts though he was.

 

Before him, on the console, a datapad sat open, blinking and awaiting his input.

 

“Hello, lover,” Paha greeted him in a soft murmur, stooping her head beside his. Her scent, peaceful and sated, was a welcome interruption to the unspoken muddle in his mind, as yet untangled by his meditations, and he tilted his head slightly, laying his brow along hers and indulging the welcome congress of their skin.

 

“Not that good, then?” she asked; he noted the weight of her concern sending heavy tendrils through her aura, and knew what it was she meant.

 

He rotated his torso a little, but without shifting his gaze from where it was riveted on the datapad, and reached to entwine his arm sinuously around her body, pulling her close for a moment before answering.

 

“ _That_ ,” he said with significance, “was wonderful. You – the things that bloom in your aura... How they captivate us when they sing so. Were it possible to harness a bolt of lightning, and fly us across the heavens... that is how it is, with you. We're sorry if our distraction led you to think otherwise.”

 

Paha toyed gently with the dark locks of his hair, already disarrayed from love and sleep, and its tidiness was not improved by her twirling it idly between her fingers. “Mmm,” she mused hedging once again into the train of his thoughts and opting, this time, for a more direct route. “Well, that's a comfort – that it isn't me, or us. So... what is it?”

 

He made a ponderous sound, a solemn sigh denoting a leaden trouble, and the dark pits of his eyes seemed to be hypnotically transfixed on the patient, blinking cursor on the datapad screen, as though they would devour the words that had not been written.

 

“Our parents,” he admitted at last. He had lain awake beside her for a long time, listening to the even sound of her breathing, watching the contented, sleepy hues of her aura shifting lazily in her dreams, and reflecting on how fortunate he had been, which had led him to wonder that there were so many others in the galaxy, Imperial and Republic, who had been as fortunate. And this, along with their approaching destination, naturally led him to consider his parents, and what their own courtship and early marriage had been like, before the existence of himself and his sister, and from there, his thoughts circled around and around, in such a spiral that he felt he needed to get up, before their cyclonic energy disrupted Paha's sleep. “It occurred to us – that is, we... had the thought we might see them, in Djircelle. Let them know we are married. But... then, we're not so sure about it.”

 

“You don't want to introduce me to them?” she queried, puzzled but not yet offended. She asked the question without even remotely fearing that he would answer it affirmatively. This, she was sure, was not his trouble, but sometimes it was necessary to make a decided show of throwing aside the extraneous aspects to permit the truth of the matter to reveal itself.

 

“We are going to pretend we didn't hear you ask that,” he answered, at last breaking his narrowed eyes from the datapad to give her a crooked smile, and although there was no annoyance or anger in it, neither was there genuine mirth.

 

“Then is it that you are reluctant to introduce _them_ to _me_?” Paha asked. Many an Imperial human parent would be less than thrilled to find their darling child had elected to wed an inferior alien; he could be seeking to shelter her from the brunt of bigoted disapproval. But Vector had to have drawn his fascination with and respect for alien cultures from _somewhere_ – and there was a distinct likelihood that that somewhere was his childhood home. Then again, being interested in alien culture was one thing, and marrying into one was another, as she herself knew all too well.

 

“No, not really.” The hand that was not attached to the arm wrapped around her hips rose to his face in a loose fist, as though he were covering a cough, and it paused and rested there, his thumb propping his chin briefly before he continued. “It's... complicated. Or at least, it feels that way.”

 

“If you tell me, maybe I can help.”

 

Vector shifted uncomfortably, and he opened his mouth to speak, thought the better of it and closed it again; as he reassembled his thoughts, he took a breath as though, once more, to say something, and again changed his mind. At the third time of his performing this action, Paha observed, “Tarisian mud guppy, right? That's very good. I didn't know you'd been practicing impressions.”

 

At last rewarding her with a look of amusement, albeit a grudging one, Vector retorted, “Considering every living thing on Taris is horribly mutated, we think we should be insulted by that.” His brief humor faded; he frowned for a moment.

 

“We're not sure – that is, we don't know how to say...” He trailed off uneasily, faced with the dilemma that describing the nature of his thought risked being as troubling as the thought itself.

 

“...that as an orphan for the entirety of my adult life,” Paha supplied without rancor or bitterness, “I am essentially in a very dubious position to offer any kind of meaningful perspective or useful advice whatsoever on how another grown adult should handle interactions between himself and his family so it would probably be best if I simply shut up.”

 

Vector twitched; she felt as his muscles tensed briefly throughout his body and then quelled again, but she couldn't tell if it was wry humor for her sardonic bluntness, a stab of discomfort that she had hit the mark so accurately, or a sense of shame at having entertained the thought in the first place. “We certainly wouldn't have put it in such terms -”

 

“I know you wouldn't,” she interrupted smoothly. “You're much more tactful than I am; I said it so you wouldn't have to. Family strife – we both know that's foreign territory for me. But I'll need to figure it out, sooner or later, as I guess it isn't a problem I can solve by simply shooting it, or running away. So walk me through it, and that might help you in the end.”

 

He gave her a glance of surprise at this unexpected point of logic, and his countenance fell into an expression still thoughtful, but much less uncertain, and as she stroked a loose lock of hair back from where it dropped charmingly over his brow, she could see the shift in his perspective as he found a place to begin. He gave her a light tug, pulling her around the arm of the captain's chair and down into his lap, settling her and his thoughts simultaneously.

 

“We thought,” he opened slowly, “we might send a message to our parents. To... alert them to our arrival. But now that we sit down to write, we find we don't know what to say.”

 

“Alert them?” Paha latched on to his choice of word. As a diplomat, he had been made well aware of the need for thought and caution when expressing himself aloud, and both this care and the requisite for it became all the more pronounced as he re-integrated with humanoid society again, in contrast to the free sharing of thought and emotion among the Killiks. It was rare indeed that he spoke without giving due consideration to the words he set free; she knew this as well as he, and he was equally aware of her attention to detail – it wouldn't be something she would disregard. It was not by accident that he opted for the phraseology he now used.

 

Nor was it by accident, she recognized, his choice of mode for this communication – the least intrusive, most easily ignored, and most easily answered format of a simple missive. No jarring holomessage from a half-lost and altered son, speaking strange tones and odd phrases in a voice yet still familiar; no direct holocall that would break in on their lives and demand immediate response. The unsettling effect of their disguises came to her mind again, and she both understood and empathized – with their side, as well as his own.

 

“Vector, they're your parents; they still love you,” she said optimistically. “Of course they'll want to see you. You're still their son.”

 

“We are not quite so sanguine,” he replied. “They hardly know us anymore. We are not what they wanted us to be. We think they see us as... a disappointment."”

 

“How do you know?” Paha demanded bluntly.

 

“Because they told us so.”

 

Paha blinked at that. She had been a personal witness to Vector's ostracization from normal Imperial society, and for the most part, it no longer seemed to bother him with the severity it once had. But there was quite a difference between shrugging off the general disdain of the galaxy as a whole and enduring such a flat rejection from one's own kin. “Because of your Joining?”

 

“Of course. When we told them of it, they, too pressed us to pursue medical science to reverse the process. Our decision to refuse...” Vector finished the thought with a sort of awkwardly fatalistic shrug.

 

“Were they disappointed in _you,_ or in your _decision?”_ Paha inquired carefully, her brow furrowing with her keenness to understand.

 

“Both. Or the first, because of the second.”

 

Paha mulled that over for a bit. “Have you tried to talk with them again since then?”

 

“...No.”

 

“Then you don't know for certain that they still feel the same way,” she pointed out. “And you have changed since then. Quite a lot. They can't know that.”

 

“Perhaps, but neither have they tried to contact us, either." He didn't say it petulantly, but with melancholy acceptance. "Silence often speaks volumes.”  

 

“They could be embarrassed,” Paha proposed. “Ashamed of things spoken in the heat of the moment, when forced face-to-face with a shock, and therefore reluctant to bring it up again.”

 

He saw what she was giving him: a view of his parents that enabled him to accept a tidy, if all too human, excuse for their behavior and words, without sharp reproach or blame, and he appreciated it deeply. It was a wound he had long thought healed, or at least forgotten, and the dull ache of it, now that his attention was drawn back to it, surprised him, although not into bitterness – just sorrow, which in itself was enough.

 

“Is that not,” Vector asked sadly, “all the more reason not to force our presence on them now?”

 

He could make them the offer to meet, and would, Paha knew, if she asked him to, but she saw how severely that would open him again to the harshness of their rejection, something she would not for the universe willingly subject him to. Good reason, indeed, for shying from the attempt, for without the attempt, hope yet lived. If he extended his hand, and found it slapped away, then that hope for reconciliation would be struck down by the same blow, likely forever. He would be as orphaned as she, and in the particularly brutal manner of it being the wish of his own mother and father.

 

"I could write," Paha suggested. “On your behalf.”

 

After a moment, Vector made a negative gesture. “Thank you,” he answered, tightening his arms around her slightly. “Not only for the offer, but for giving us to realize we were being cowardly without being too harsh about it.”

 

She made a low noise of confusion and disbelief; surprised at his view of what she had never intended.

 

“Oh, we would call it cowardly, yes,” he interjected before she could gather her words to protest the term. “To hide from contacting our own parents until our wife speaks of doing so in our stead? As total strangers? We have negotiated treaties, we have been part of first contact missions, we have become skilled at mediation – and yet we shirk from this? There is no other word for it but cowardly.”

 

“I still think you're being a bit hard on yourself,” Paha replied, kissing him lightly over one brow. A thought occurred to her at that moment, as she caught the glint of determination in the twin abysses of his eyes. “You could always,” she hazarded, “demonstrate to them your ability to block the pheromones. Seeing you as you once were might help.”

 

Vector shook his head almost immediately. “We thought of that; we don't think we should,” he said decidedly. “If they see us appearing as human, they will certainly ask why we don't appear that way all the time – which is impossible to do, even if we were willing. But they would expect us to maintain it so that _they_ will be more comfortable, no matter what it costs _us_ , and they will never become accustomed to us as we are now. They'll continue to live with their construct of who we are, and never the reality, and it will become more and more difficult. For everyone. We won't live a lie, even for them.”

 

“I understand. And – I expected as much, really,” Paha said softly.

 

“And, too, there is this,” added Vector, his tone dressed in solemn and sincere colors, as he reached up to touch her cheek, “You are the only one we wish to show that ability and aspect of ourselves to. Because we know that you will never demand it. That you love us – all of us – without needing to see it.”

 

She looked at him for a moment with a touched expression, a small knot of emotion in her throat, before she said, “I could never do this by halves, you know. Half a man, half a heart, half a love, in either direction? It was all or nothing – and nothing was never an option. Not in this.”

 

Her fingertips, which had stilled as they talked, again moved to brush the hair from his forehead. The action recalled her to herself, and she made a motion to rise. “I'm sorry; I'm probably putting your legs to sleep.”

 

“No, stay,” he invited gently, preventing her escape as he pulled her close again. “You certainly aren't heavy.”

 

“Now that _is_ a compliment,” she joked, and there was the music of humor in her voice. But she didn't try to pull away again.

 

“Then here is a better one,” he answered. His hands wandered over her idly, not with any intent to rouse her, but merely to feel her cerulean warmth through the filmy folds of her robe. “It's an enigma, really: for how is it that we may have all that is dearest and best in the galaxy here in our arms, and find that yet so weightless?”

 

Unexpectedly, her face flushed violet to the roots of her hair, and he laughed at her; he slid his long fingers into the sleek strands of her indigo hair and cradled her head in his hand as he kissed her, long and slow until he felt like he was drowning in sweet singing of her soul's response.

 

When Vector returned his attention to the datapad and his unwritten letter, the words came more easily to him this time.

 

_Dear Mother and Father,_

 

_We wanted to inform you that we will be paying a visit to Jurio, and we would very much like to see you while we are there. In particular, we have someone we would like you meet – our wife. We were married, just over three months ago, and we would like to introduce you._

 

_We will arrive within the week; we apologize for the short notice, and understand completely if this is not convenient. We don't wish to intrude if this is a bad time._

 

_We hope this finds you well, and happy._

 

_Your loving son,_

 

_Vector._

 

 


	12. Crossing the Core

Paha pulled the _Phantom_ out of the hyperspace corridor known as the Hydian Way and cut the engine.

 

“Moment of decision,” she said tensely, eyeing the bulletin that flashed across the main console of the bridge. It stated, in no uncertain terms, that beyond the next checkpoint, all stealth cloaks were to be disabled, and remain off for fifteen hundred parsecs around the Coruscant atmosphere. It was equally clear in its statement of penalty for non-compliance: instant destruction, no additional warning. The question was: how good was Republic detection technology? Good enough to defeat the best in Imperial stealth?

 

“We did go through the trouble of getting the Republic energy signature module,” Vector pointed out.

 

“Good thing, too,” Paha replied. “As much as I'm sure Intelligence would like to know the status of Republic defenses, now's not really the time to investigate it, and I'm not willing to press our luck. Republic shroud signal on, and stealth off.”

 

Paha's hands danced over the consoles, and the _Phantom_ emerged from its defensive cloak. With her heart beating hard, she spun up the engines again.

 

“No hyperspace, either,” she observed, keeping the ship only on the slow-speed outside fringe of the corridor. Dawdling at sub-light in a heavily traveled hyperspace passageway was an excellent way to get oneself, and many others, very dead, very quickly. There were many tricky things with faster-than-light travel, but this was one of the most hazardous: if there were some obstruction ahead, a pilot would slam their ship into it before ever knowing that it was there. To see anything at faster-than-light speeds was to look into the past.

 

The technology used to designate and monitor hyperspace lanes had proven extremely effective in limiting collisions and accidents that, ages ago, had claimed many lives, but the danger still existed for the foolish or unwary. It was the foremost of many reasons why planets restricted hyperspace travel in their immediate vicinity, particularly planets that saw a lot of traffic, but none other, to Paha's knowledge, had limited it it to such a broad reach around a planet as had Coruscant. The Republic had learned much when its capital planet had been sacked.

 

“Auxiliary engines only for a thousand parsecs around Coruscant,” she read from the next imperative that crawled across the console. “They're not taking any chances, it seems. How close does the Hydian Way take us?”

 

Vector glanced at the navicomputer. “About sixteen hundred light-years.”

 

Five hundred parsecs, Paha's brain did the conversion automatically. Close, but certainly not as dangerous as it would have been had they remained on the Corellian Run, the corridor they had taken from Tatooine. Now, traveling at sub-light speed, she could see the intense bands of traffic, thousands of lights in a dozen lanes, streaming into the distance, or from it, where she knew Coruscant must lay, far beyond their ability to see themselves. Thousands of people, moving between all the important worlds of the Republic Core, going about their business and their habits under restrictions that had become the norm after fourteen years in place – and which now, with the fires of war stoking up to a fierce blaze, were naturally poised to tighten.

 

“It's amazing,” she marveled, “seeing this much of the Republic up close. I never thought I would.”

 

Vector didn't answer; he was craning his head to nervously eye one of the massive Republic cruisers that patrolled the region, and that, with her sister ships, created a net of observation and defense positions that wreathed the heart of the Republic for three thousand light-years in every direction, scanning every passing ship, hunting relentlessly for hidden threats.

 

“Kind of makes me want to sneak onto Coruscant and see it for myself,” Paha mused. That caught Vector's attention and he snapped his head towards her, disturbed. “Oh, I'm not _going_ to,” she assured him with a sort of shaky laugh. “I just thought it would be interesting to see.”

 

“We know you're generally more cautious than that,” Vector replied. “But you can be somewhat single-minded when it comes to satisfying your curiosity.” He looked thoughtful, and settled back in his chair. Now that there was evidence to suggest this daring scheme was working, he began to feel slightly more positive about the whole venture. Some part of him, when he dared to consider it, even had reason to contemplate a few buoyant hopes for the result of his letter to his parents. “Although, we don't deny it would be interesting.”

 

There was no further conversation as the flow of traffic curled through Republic space; Paha's eye more frequently darting apprehensively to the position of their ship relative to Coruscant on the navicomputer; here, merely five hundred parsecs from the planet, was surely the most dangerous portion to travel. Anxious adrenaline prodded the rhythm of her heart to a more rapid beat, loud and hollow to Vector's ear, and unconsciously ground his chin into the knuckles of his fist while Paha gnawed at her lip, not daring to relax even as the route swung away, leading them now further from the Republic's thriving heart.

 

Paha exchanged an encouraging look with Vector, and consciously felt herself release a long slow breath she hadn't been aware of holding. Ahead the patrol of massive hammerhead cruisers and attack-class frigates prowled, and beyond that, it was just a short distance to go, especially under hyperspace speeds, to pass the beacons indicating the border of permissible stealth travel – and then it was just a straight shot onward to Imperial space.

 

An abrupt, sharp crackle at the comm console made her jump in her seat, and before the movement had finished, a strong, authoritative voice rapped out a command.

 

“Unidentified vessel. This is the Republic cruiser _Diamal Victory_. You are requested and required to cut your engines to one-sixteenth auxiliary speed. Do not attempt to flee or you will be fired upon.”

 

Vector dug his fingers into the console, his eyes locking with Paha's. She took a breath, and made a tolerably successful attempt at calming herself before she answered.

 

“Of course,” she replied far more smoothly than her aura indicated she felt. She slowed the engines. “Is there a problem?”

 

“We'll let you know. Hold your position.” The comm signal cut off, but Paha swiftly muted the channel on the _Phantom'_ s end as a precaution, and brought the engines to full stop.

 

“Nice of them to make it sound like we have a choice in obeying or not,” Vector muttered in a low voice, wary despite the closed communications link as he fixed his keen gaze on the hammerhead cruiser nearby. “They have us in a tractor beam. We can't leave. The next time you declare you want to travel through the center of the Republic...”

 

“Yes, I _know_ ,” Paha interrupted, somewhat irritated. “When we get blown to smithereens you can have the satisfaction of knowing you were right. Is that better?”

 

“Hardly,” Vector answered, raising an eyebrow. “Remaining alive is infinitely preferable to being right. We weren't trying to scold you; we were only going to say we would argue more strongly for the safer route. What's the point in being a negotiator if we don't use our training?”

 

Paha flushed, having the grace to look abashed at her peevishness. “Sorry. Really, I'm very sorry.”

 

“We know,” Vector replied with a calming solemnity.

 

“Unidentified vessel,” cracked out the comm again. “Your ship has been recognized as being of known Imperial origin. You will be boarded. If you attempt to flee, you will be destroyed. If you attempt to fight, you will be destroyed. If you send any transmissions other than on this channel, you will be destroyed.”

 

The comm went silent.

 

Paha snapped, “How the bloody hell did they recognize this ship?”

 

“Perhaps Wyvenod's modules aren't as useful as we thought,” Vector shrugged, a tense, short motion of his shoulders. “But we'll have to figure it out later; we can see they've already sent their boarding capsule – before they told us of their intent. We only have seconds.”

 

“Disguises,” Paha replied immediately, her hand going at once to the cuff on her wrist.

 

“Ours is in our room,” Vector said, jumping up from his chair and heading straight for their quarters. Paha, red-haired, blue-eyed, and pink-skinned, and entirely uncomfortable looking so, leaped to her feet and was halfway across the lounge when she heard the hiss of the airlock hatch. She froze, remembering Fa'athra's caution of the correlation between distance and credibility of the holodisguises, and she was standing there still as three Republic soldiers filed onto her ship in the wake of their commander.

 

“You the pilot?” the commander demanded. Paha nodded dumbly.

 

“You own this ship?” he asked next. Another nod.

 

“Very nice. Distinctive design, too. But that's the odd thing,” the commander said, deceptively conversational. “We've got someone on the bridge of the _Victory_ who claims he has seen this ship before. Said it belonged to some Imperial military freelancer; one who had something to do with the surrender of the Isen Mining Colony. I'm no SIS, but even us lowbies hear things. Some say the Empire saved lives on the Colony. Others say it was all the Empire's fault, what happened there. What do you think?”

 

“I'm sure I don't know,” Paha spoke at last, shaking her head a little and flashing a disarming smile. She wished she had a better idea of how to use human eyes to make an endearingly innocent look. For all she knew, an attempt in that direction would just make her look demented.

 

“And yet, here you are, flying that same ship.”

 

“Maybe it only looks the same. Or your crew mate might have been mistaken,” she suggested ingenuously, inwardly wondering what was keeping Vector.

 

“Oh, no, he was quite sure, even after we told him she's flying Republic signals. Interesting isn't it? An Imp ship, broadcasting as Republic.”

 

Oh, bloody hell and _fuck_ , Paha seethed inwardly. The tech had been fine. Wyvenod's module had worked perfectly, her installation and tuning of it had been textbook flawless. They had been caught by the one thing she couldn't control – what she had known she couldn't control when she used the Black Codex to erase all electronic traces of herself and her crew from the galaxy – living, breathing, organic memory.

 

“So tell me,” concluded the commander, “what's the deal with you and this ship, Imp? And why shouldn't I kill you?”

 

“As for the ship,” she lied glibly, “I admit you've caught me. You see... I stole it.”

 

“Stole it,” repeated the commander, disbelieving and bland. “A ship full of Imp tech, and you just, what, flew off with it?”

 

“Er... well, yes, something like that,” Paha smiled again. “I'm really _very_ good at that sort of thing.”

 

“How? And where?” the commander demanded.

 

“Nar Shaddaa,” Paha answered promptly. She resisted the urge to look back over her shoulder for Vector. Perhaps it was best for him to stay hidden. This was going better than expectations had at first seemed. “But I'd rather not share the details. You understand.”

 

“Sure don't,” answered the commander, and Paha's hopefulness waned. “If you're that good, I'd think you'd want to brag about it a little, how you pulled a fast one on some Imp – an Imp _bigwig._ They wouldn't give a ship like this to just anybody. Private yacht for a Moff, maybe. Could be a spook, all this high tech gear. So, let me ask again – what brings you to Republic space and why shouldn't I kill you right now?”

 

“Because,” came Vector's voice clear and strong from behind Paha, “I would hate to have to explain to House Organa why the Republic has chosen to murder their servant in cold blood.”

 

Paha held very still. _I_ , he had said. Not _we_. She didn't dare to turn around.

 

“House Organa,” the commander said skeptically. “You work for House Organa? Of Alderaan?”

 

“I don't know of another House Organa. Do you?” Vector asked superciliously, coming to stand beside Paha. He wore his holodisguise, with its strange green eyes and blondish brown hair, but of greater interest was that his absence had been caused by the time it had taken him to change into his old clothes – the long coat she hadn't seen him wear since they had left Alderaan, but which marked him recognizably as a person of some value on that planet. And beneath that, from his words, he had blocked the link to the Colony, to enable himself to sound as fully human as he looked – three full layers of concealment. He sniffed. “Of course you don't. But I'm sure they would be quite interested to know of you. Your interference.”

 

“Interference in what?” the commander asked, defensive and shifting his eyes between the two.

 

“The rescue of a cousin of House Alde, which is to say: me. – You do know House Alde, I'm sure?” Vector made a disdainful toss of his head. “I see I'll have to explain myself further. During my time on Coruscant, I was held for ransom by some of those Black Sun criminals that you have proven yourselves so inept at putting down. House Alde petitioned contacts in your Senate and SIS to address the matter, and they did nothing. Fortunately, House Organa remembers their friends; House Organa remembers the respect due to the royalty of Alderaan, even if others do not. They sent this person to handle what the Republic ignored. Shall I wait while you check out my story? Not, of course, that I would expect _you_ to have the sorts of connections necessary to do that.”

 

“Ah – well,” hesitated the commander. Alderaan was in a precarious position now, and everyone knew it, with both the Empire and the Republic fervently courting the noble houses, distracted from the greater galactic conflict by the civil war for the planet. Whichever side backed the winning house would gain the planet, and all its considerable resources – and the Houses of Alde and Organa were stalwart supporters of the Republic. For the Republic to neglect the endangered plight of one of their pampered bright scions would displease both houses at a time most perilous.

 

“No,” the commander said hastily, “no, of course not; I don't think that will be necessary. My apologies, sir. I'm only doing my duty, you know.”

 

“I commend your drive at keeping the Republic safe,” Vector said dryly. “If only the Republic gave as much attention to Coruscant as you do to your responsibilities. My compliments to your commanders, of course.”

 

“Yes, thank you, yes,” the commander nodded, waving his soldiers toward the airlock surreptitiously, and stepping back with a small bow. “I'm sure they'll be happy to receive them. Have a safe journey back to Alderaan. I'll ask them to release the tractor beam straight off.”

 

The hatch door closed behind them, and Paha darted promptly to the bridge, staring in triumphant delight as the aqua-colored glow tethering the _Phantom_ vanished, the boarding capsule already detached and en route to its berth on the _Diamal Victory_. Her hands skittered over the console, engaging the engines before the Republic had the chance to change its mind, and as their ship slipped safely into the hyperspace corridor of the Hydian Way, she breathed a relieved sigh. At a noise behind her, she turned swiftly on her heel to see Vector in the bridge doorway, and she dropped the holodisguise as she bounded to him so that she might see his familiar black gaze with her own native eyes.

 

“ _You_ ,” she said jubilantly, throwing her arms around him, “are absolutely, completely, and utterly _brilliant_.”

 

“We try,” he said, a tiny, teasing note of smugness in his voice. He clasped his hands behind her back, smiling down into the basking glow of her relieved joy.

 

“And succeed,” she declared roundly. 

 

"We are a bit sorry, though," he admitted.  "We did just tell you that we only wanted to block the pheromones for you.  And here we did it in front of a crowd."

 

"But still for me," she answered.  "And since they couldn't possibly know any better - still only for me."  She caught his face in her hands and kissed him thoroughly; when they broke apart, he looked down at her, touched and intrigued by the expression on her face.

 

“I,” she answered his mute inquiry with a voice of soft pride, “am one _hell_ of a lucky woman.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Vector's Intelligence profile states (if I recall correctly) that he is intelligent, obedient, charismatic, and loyal. I created this episode because I wanted to give him a chance to show off some of these traits a little more, plus show that Paha can't be/isn't on top of things, or right, or resourceful, _all_ the time. She blundered a little on this one - but it gave Vector the opportunity to save their butts, thanks to his quick thinking, experience among the aristocracy of Alderaan (House Alde is notoriously stuck-up), and training in interpersonal communication.
> 
> 2\. Diamal is a random Republic planet I found on Wookiepedia. No significance.
> 
> 3\. All the stuff about flight restrictions/no stealth/no hyperspace zones around Coruscant I made up - but it seems like a likely precaution, following the Sack of Coruscant.


	13. How Answers Create More Questions

Vector had read the message displayed on the datapad six times, and meditated on its meaning for precisely twenty-one minutes as he listened to the barely audible hum produced by the electromagnetic radiation of the device, singing its rhythm at hertz far too high to possibly count. He then read it twice more.

 

He was midway through his ninth reading when Paha came upon him, in his old spot in the cargo hold. It had been some while since he had spent any time in this his old refuge, unneeded during the weeks on Xaastu, and unused in the few days since leaving that planet, but he had returned to its vacancy now as his original place of contemplation on board the _Phantom,_ while Paha's attention had been absorbed with tasks on the bridge.

 

“Everything okay?” she asked as she entered. She had thought he was in their quarters, and while she had been a little surprised to find that he wasn't, she knew there was really only one other place he was likely to be. And the _Phantom_ was not, after all, a big ship.

 

Vector raised his head, appreciating the shimmering marks of concern in her aura, then glanced back down at the datapad in his hands, which, presently, he held out to her.

 

“We hardly know what to make of it ourselves,” he admitted. “Although we're getting a clearer idea.  But perhaps you had better read it yourself first.”

 

Wordlessly, she took the datapad, regarding him and his carefully composed expression for a moment before she looked down at the message in her hands.

 

_Dear Vector,_

 

_Your father and I are surprised, but very glad, to hear from you. We are even more surprised at your news. We look forward to seeing you, and to meeting your wife – you must have met during your diplomatic work for the Empire, yes?_

 

_I don't know where you have made plans to stay during your visit, but if you have not yet decided, your father and I hope you will consider staying with us. In truth, I insist on it, we have plenty of space – your old room is just as you left it. You will be quite welcome._

 

_Your affectionate,_

 

_Mother._

 

“This is good,” Paha observed. She peered intently into Vector's face; he was often at his most Killik-like when he was most deeply troubled. “Isn't it?”

 

“It would appear so,” he agreed neutrally.

 

Instead of answering immediately, Paha glanced again at the datapad, then slowly turned to sit on her old perch, one of the many crates that served as furniture of convenience in the hold. “You don't sound convinced,” she said, without judgment. “Why?”

 

There was a slight downward twitch at the corners of Vector's mouth, the only hint of expression he was choosing to display. A frown of displeasure? Or merely puzzlement?

 

“To begin with,” Vector answered in the measured tones Paha recognized as his professional voice, his diplomat's voice, the one that he kept serious and calm and free of the colors of his emotions, “the language, the feel of it, is a bit formal.”

 

“So was yours, as I recall,” Paha pointed out gently.

 

“True,” Vector admitted, sitting down close beside her. “But this seems unusually so, for our mother.”

 

“To match yours, perhaps?” she suggested. She took a long breath, considering. “You've been... estranged for quite a long time. At the very least, Vector, I don't think you can expect her to sound as though that distance hasn't existed.”

 

“We understand that,” Vector replied, and there was the slightest edge to his voice, an edge that belied the appearance of his cultivated detachment and gave Paha some clearer image of the turmoil hidden beneath it. “We're not expecting this not to be awkward. We're not expecting this to be _easy_.”

 

Paha didn't answer for a moment, and he felt the weight of her dispassionate vermilion gaze resting on him. A human reaction peeked out from beneath his Killik mask, pulling a faint shade of embarrassment into his face.

 

“We're sorry. We're aware we sound...” he paused, hunting for a word. “ _Cranky_. This isn't your mess.”

 

“I have my own opinion on that. Married, remember? Yours is mine and mine is yours – the bad as well as the good.” Paha leaned to give him a small nudge with her shoulder, and was rewarded with a smile that was forced, but nonetheless appreciative. “So tell me what else about this troubles you. It's more than just the tone, am I right?”

 

“Yes,” Vector admitted. “On the surface – welcoming, and civil, even friendly. But certain things – words, the phrasing... there are the warning bells of alarm ringing between her words, beneath her melody.”

 

“How so?”

 

Vector pursed his lips into a moue of thought. “For example, she assumes we met due to our diplomatic work.”

 

With the smallest wisp of a chuckle, Paha said, “She's not _exactly_ wrong about that. We essentially did. And of course she couldn't know you're no longer with the Diplomatic Service.”

 

“No, it's not that. We see there is another layer of inquiry there,” Vector reasoned, putting his hand to his chin thoughtfully. “Or rather, two, at least. First – the assumption of how we met has a translation: is our wife part of the Diplomatic Service also? And by extension, is she an Imperial? Or is she someone from outside the Empire?”

 

“An alien,” Paha supplied. “Well, I am that. And I'm from outside the Empire, _and_ I am a faithful Imperial.”

 

Vector made a vague gesture of concession. “Not, that is, that our parents are prejudiced beyond the norm for Imperial humans. In fact, we would say they are rather a good deal less, in our memory, at least. Loyalty to the Empire will mean more to them than race –”

 

“No fear on that head,” Paha quipped. Her loyalties had been tested in a red-hot furnace stoked by the coldest of betrayals, and she had neither wavered nor faltered.

 

“– within certain boundaries,” Vector finished. “Which is the second – or would it be the third? – layer of questioning: considering the outcome of the last assignment they know we were on, are we about to bring them a Killik wife?”

 

“Oh,” Paha murmured, struck by the conclusion.

 

“That might test the limits of even their willing forbearance.”

 

“I can see how it could.”

 

“Which,” Vector drew a long breath, “brings us back to the crux of the matter: our Joining. They must remember our last conversation as clearly as we do. The anger. The recriminations. The disappointment.”

 

“True, but,” Paha opined, “there seems to be at least the desire to mend the breach.”

 

“But on what terms?”

 

“I don't understand?”

 

“Here,” Vector tapped the datapad screen with one long finger. “She tells us we are welcome to stay, and then even insists upon it –”

 

“We don't have to, of course,” Paha interrupted. “If you don't want to.”

 

Vector made a sort of shuffling motion with his shoulders that seemed to indicate that, if his mother insisted, then yes, they would, in fact, have to, and continued, “– and then she takes particular pains to point out that things are as we left them. As we left them when we were _human_.”

 

There was a silence, broken only by the long slow “Ahhhh” of Paha's understanding. She saw the situation delineated clearly, the exact outline of Vector's fears: Not just the pain of the reunion, or the ultimately cleansing agony of a true reconciliation, but his mother's hidden apprehension of his supposed Killik wife, standing as a living, chitinous barrier between him and what she hoped would pull him, bound with cords of nostalgia, back to the fold of full humanity. She had already lost her son twice: once to the Killiks, and once to the argument that had severed the family ties. Here was one more chance – her last, in all likelihood, and so that much more desperate – to win him back from everything that Vector had already made his peace with, everything that had taken him away. Uncomfortably, Paha wondered if she would be included in that tally.

 

“As you were when she last saw you,” Paha deduced. “You think your parents will... resume their cause. To convince you to convert back.”

 

“It's pretty clear to us they will. We think Mother will still see us as –” Vector's shoulders stiffened. “– a thing needing to be fixed.”

 

“Of course, we both know she's wrong,” Paha speculated, “but she doesn't understand that right now. She just remembers you as you once were; she probably is still holding to that. She has yet to know you any other way.”

 

“She didn't try to,” Vector replied tersely, and the bitterness in his voice rose again.

 

“Maybe she doesn't know how.” Paha curled her fingers around his hand, resting in a loose fist on his leg. “Maybe you have to help her. Show her that, sure, you're different, but you're still... family. I know I've said it before, but: people change. But change doesn't mean you're not still tied to each other. That's a fact, and everyone needs to accept it. Even your mother. ”

 

“And maybe we're just over-thinking all of this.  Maybe she only does want to make us feel welcome.  Does that not make us terrible, for suspecting her so?” Hefting a laborious sigh, Vector turned his head slightly, looking more intently at Paha, seeing all the trust and faith and love that kindled in her, from her core to her furthest fringes.  He gave her a wan smile. “We thought you said you didn't know how this whole family strife thing works.”

 

“I don't,” Paha shrugged. “Vector, I'm completely talking out of my arse here.”

 

“It's funny," Vector closed his eyes with a small shake of his head, and when he opened them again, they were full with a depthless and nameless emotion that made Paha's heart swell within her chest. "We're the mediator. We're the one trained in negotiation. And yet we find ourselves so far afield.  How did you come to carry these delicate songs so well in tune, and how is it our verse has wandered all off-key and wrong?”

 

He slipped an arm around her, more to take comfort from her closeness than to offer it, and she answered, “For the second? I think perhaps it's tougher when it's your own family. It just puts you too close to it. It's easier for an outsider, because an outsider has less to lose.” She leaned on his shoulder, and pressed her lips gently to his cheek, and the action, simple and chaste as it was, sent a warming glow of growing confidence through his veins.

 

“As for the first – well, I guess I had a good teacher.”

 


	14. Memory Bound

“Now,” Paha said, shuffling on her makeshift seat, looking for a more comfortable position than the crate could offer her, “I think it's about time you gave me a full briefing for this mission of ours.”

 

“About Djircelle? There's not much more we can tell you,” Vector mused, “except that we know where to get the best Tionese noodles.”

 

“Not exactly what I meant,” Paha said, her mouth quirking, “although I look forward to trying them. But that's not the mission I was referring to. I know your mother's name is Sessali, your father's name is Adronik, and I know roughly how they met, and I have a little idea – a very little idea – of what they're like.”

 

“We probably haven't given you the best impression,” Vector admitted, somewhat glumly.

 

“My impression is that they have loved you very much, and likely still do,” she replied, soft and generous. “Believe it or not, I do understand what an... entangling thing that might be.”

 

Vector gave her a quick, searching look, but nothing in her aura, absorbed in concern for him and some mild anxiety for their near future, gave him further insight into her words, and he let it pass.

 

“Tell me about them,” she invited. “Not their arguments or their fears. I want to hear the mundane and boring stuff. What you remember they were like.”

 

He nodded, slowly and contemplatively, two or three times, gathering his memories and his words before he began.  Much had been lost, or rather, buried in the furthest recesses of his mind, after the Joining, as though the sharing of all his experiences with the Colony had darkened his memories at the same time it illuminated them to the Killiks and bound them into the collective knowledge of the hive. It had taken time, and great effort, to sift through that vast biological database and strain out his personal experiences from all the others, but doing so had been a critical part of recovering his human aspects, and locating the balance between them and his adopted Killik traits.

 

“Father – you know already he was military – is retired now. He likely would have stayed longer, but he had an old injury that gave him trouble, and we recall he said if he couldn't be active, he'd rather sit behind his own desk at home rather than behind someone else's.” A flicker of a smile flitted over Vector's lips at the memory of his father's declaration, and there was a faraway gleam, like the sparkle of a distant star, in the black night of his eyes.

 

“We're not sure retirement agreed with him. Just before we went to Alderaan, Mother said that she was ready to throw him out of the house, if it kept him from rearranging the furniture one more time. We think that was when he took up gardening in earnest.”

 

“Flowers or vegetables?”

 

“Both, if we recall correctly. Quite good at it, too, from what he used to say in his holocalls.”

 

“And when your mother isn't threatening your father with eviction, what does she do?”

 

“Our mother still works for – ” Vector broke off abruptly, his nostalgic gaze focusing sharply.

 

“What is it?” Paha asked, bewildered and a little worried.

 

“Our mother,” Vector said quietly, sucking in air slowly, “works for NysBank. The Nystiera Financial Corporation. One of the major institutions centered in Djircelle. And custodian of one of the accounts connected to The Fund.” He raised a hand to his mouth. “Why didn't we realize it? Why didn't we see this before?”

 

“Oh, Vector – don't.” Paha shook her head earnestly, laying a hand on his arm. “Don't do what I do. Don't look at someone and have the first thing you see be how you can use them as an asset. She's your mother.”

 

“We know.”

 

Several seconds of silence passed during which Vector stared at his hands, laid limply in his lap, while Paha didn't know which way to look.

 

“Oh, bloody star-damning hell,” Paha hissed below her breath finally. Vector raised an eyebrow. Paha sighed. “You aren't _wrong._ And my mother-in-law, who I haven't even met yet, and will likely hate me, is now my primary resource for infiltrating her company.” She scrubbed her open palm over her eyes, and left it there a moment.

 

“It's okay,” Vector offered at length, reaching to touch her comfortingly.

 

“I don't think it is,” Paha shook her head without removing her hand.

 

There was another pause, and then, in a voice rather brightened by curiosity than weighed down by morbid apprehension, he inquired, “Why do you think our mother will hate you?”

 

“I don't know. Just a feeling,” she answered with a shrug, lifting her fingers from her eyes. “Isn't that the usual way of things?”

 

While he was well aware that his concerns regarding his family history had not been calculated or likely to showcase his parents in the best light, this was the first it occurred to Vector that his own fears of homecoming might be rubbing off on his wife. She wasn't just an onlooker in this, viewing it remotely and analytically and providing her objective perspective, she was an outsider, but only just barely so, on the verge of becoming an integral part of this inner circle. Under even optimal circumstances that was cause for some anxiety; very little of their conversation would have reduced that. In some ways, however, he could almost envy her – at least she had no solid expectations awaiting her, half-seeking an excuse to turn to disappointment.

 

“Not at all,” he assured her, although he felt it was inadequate comfort. He moved his hand from where it lay idle and useless on his knee to tenderly entwine her fingers within his own. “We think you'll be fine; there isn't a challenge in the galaxy that is beyond your ability to handle.”

 

“This might be the first,” she replied with wry skepticism.

 

He pressed her hand. “You'll have to try harder than that if you mean to convince us. We're well aware of the valiant songs your spirit sings; it's much too late for you to think you can hide it from us.” It was a little funny, he thought, in a way that dazzled, rather than amused, that bolstering her courage gave him such a change in perspective that it did much to diminish his view of his own troubles; simultaneously, another concern jumped to the forefront of his thoughts. “It puts us in mind to ask, though: How would you like us to introduce you? Cipher Nine is not, of course, appropriate, but neither do we want to reveal your true identity.”

 

Beneath his fingers, Vector could feel the faint tremor-like twitch of her hand, the ever-so-tiny stutter in the pattern of her heartbeat just a fractional second before Paha said, apparently casually, “I suppose you could just call me Legate.”

 

“Ardun Kothe's old name for you?” Vector remarked. There were a lot of memories tied up in that name, most of them unpleasant: The brainwashing program set by Imperial Intelligence and corrupted by Hunter of the Star Cabal, who recruited her on Kothe's behalf; how its discovery overwhelmed her. How she looked the first time on Quesh, faint with agony as an experimental serum flamed through her veins. Hunter's ruthless exploitation of her under that name, and how he mocked her with it later. The sight of her blood, mixed with the snows of Hoth, puddling on the deck of the ship after she and Kaliyo had barely survived a fight against a wampa. The moment when he had been wholly consumed by a soul-shattering terror when all outward sign of her life had vanished before his eyes, and he thought her dead.

 

Paha put her head to one side thoughtfully, with a faint heft of her shoulders. “We're both used to using it – fewer identities to keep straight means fewer chances to make an error. And it was how I introduced myself to Anora. With the overlap in social circles, it would have to be the same name. So Legate it is. Legate... Hyllus.”

 

His eyebrows bobbed as his eyes widened with gratified surprise. Not every memory associated with the name Legate was bad, come to think of it, and the recollections warmed him as they flooded back. Under that name, she had first confided him, first trusted him with her past and her secrets and her self. He recalled her, dressed like a slave and dancing a slave's dance, captivating him and fooling a petty gangster. That moment he had thought her dead on her feet was the moment she had won back her right to govern her own life. And then, the first time he had entered the room that he now used as a matter of course, and sat near her as she slept. All the moments that had combined to change his life forever.

 

“Legate Hyllus, then. With pleasure,” he murmured. With gentle fingers, he brushed back the slender curtain of hair, which always prompted him to envision the outstretched wing of a falcon in flight, from the slope of her cheek. His smile was sweet and pensive and lopsided. “It is apt, we think – legate: a diplomatic envoy.”

 

“Shouldn't that be _your_ name, then?”

 

“Perhaps,” he replied with a little grin. “Although we still maintain you are better at mediation than you think you are. When you're not relying on your rifle to do your talking for you, that is. But it does make it sound like your parents were ambassadors.”

 

Paha chuckled. “And you sound like you were named by mathematicians!”

 

“No! Well...a little. Finance does involve numbers, at least.” His grin broadened. “We had reason, as a child, to be thankful it was no worse than that. 'Vector' is much easier to learn to spell than 'Differential Equation.'”

 

The sound of her laughter, momentarily open and free, was symphonic to his ear, but it was brief, and as quickly gone. There was seriousness beneath it, which swelled as it followed in the wake, a hesitant solemnity that prepared him for her next words as much as it prompted him to dread them.

 

“Vector...” Paha's voice dropped a little, aware as she was that she was venturing into territory that held an even deeper pain than any she had examined so far. “You haven't yet said – your sister... I don't even know her name.”

 

His eyelids dropped, swiftly veiling Vector's dark eyes from further scrutiny.

 

“Elsian,” he said in a roughened voice, so low that she almost didn't understand him. “Her name is Elsian.”

 

Paha gave him a few moments, neither pushing nor prompting, letting him work through the memories of old and bitter hurts. It came as no surprise to her that he found he had to clear his throat before he could speak again.

 

“She is younger than we are. By four – no, almost five years – stars above, she must be done with school now – she was good at languages, and used to want to become a translator...” He breathed sharply, as though he had been stabbed with a nail, raising his head and fixing his gaze far beyond the dull gray walls of the cargo hold. “All grown up, we're sure. We were close enough in age that we could be friends, but far enough apart that she would always look up to us, and we would always dote on her.”

 

“Is that... common?” Paha inquired curiously, and Vector recalled again that she had even less frame of reference for sibling interactions than she did familial stress.

 

“Every family is different,” he replied. “Some siblings are rivals, some are friends, some are something in between. Sometimes, they are all three. Maybe most times. We don't know. We only know that at some point, we figured out that she thought we could do no wrong. We think it might have gone to our head a bit – which likely means that it most certainly did go to our head, although we don't think we exploited it. Perhaps,” he mused, his voice descending into pensive tones that gingerly probed the sore spot, “that is why the rift was so severe.”

 

“You said she took it hard,” Paha reflected with caution.

 

“Very,” Vector sighed. “And harder still when we told her we didn't intend to seek to revert to our old self. She said... many things. All of them painful, for both of us.”

 

“You said she'd be an adult now? It's more than possible she has matured since then,” Paha said optimistically.

 

“Twenty-three, we think.”

 

“And when you last saw her – ?”

 

“In person, it was before we left for Alderaan – she was eighteen. But the last time we spoke, after she – after we Joined, was probably half a year later.”

 

Paha pinned him with a discerning look, searching with shrewd eyes. “Something in this sounds like the beginnings of the rift took hold _before_ you Joined,” she surmised, and the sudden tightening of muscle along his jaw validated her supposition before he spoke to confirm it.

 

“Paha, my sister – you should also know that she was close to Anora. They were good friends. She was quite upset, angry even, over our break up.” The lines on Vector's face deepened at the memory.

 

She considered that a moment, then said, “Translation: I shouldn't expect her to welcome me with open arms.”

 

Pursing his lips into a wry grimace, Vector shook his head. “Probably not. If her past behavior is any indication, she likely won't be particularly welcoming to either of us.”

 

Bracing her elbows on her knees, Paha cupped one hand around her other fist and propped her chin against it, contemplating their position, but eventually she found herself forced to face what Vector long ago had: no amount of thought, consideration, or planning could do anything to change the behavior or attitudes of another person.

 

Any further reflection, and any further deliberation, would be pointless, and not only because of its sheer futility – an alerting chime over the ship's intercom indicated that the _Phantom_ had crossed into the Corva Sector. Jurio and the reunion of the fractured Hyllus family were close at hand.

 


	15. Preparations

Djircelle was a disarmed city, a fact that intrigued Paha at the same time it astonished her. It wasn't like the Empire to be squeamish about such things; her experience of late had demonstrated that the presence of an Imperial garrison was the norm, and thus is was routine to see armed personnel moving about any city or substantial settlement. That, however, had been on worlds torn up by the war, or whose territory was in dispute by some force or another, or which the Empire hoped to gain full control of.

 

The simple fact was: there was just no need for a significant military presence on pacified worlds when soldiers were so badly needed elsewhere. It had been a long time, a very long time, since Paha had been on a world that had no active wartime role to play; even before the Cold War ended, before she became an agent of the Empire, worlds like Jurio – calm, steady, and stable – generally offered little opportunity for the sort of jobs she had found herself competent to undertake.

 

“No open carry among the citizenry,” Vector confirmed, “excepting law enforcement, of course, but we're quite sure there are plenty of hidden holdout blasters in oversized coat pockets. It started as a means of controlling the riots, years back, and then became part of the displays of Djircelle's peace and prosperity. People conflate no weapons with no danger.”

 

"Interesting, if naive," Paha considered. "It's just as well, I suppose. It probably wouldn't get us off to a great start if I show up at your parents' door with a sniper rifle in my hand."

 

“Don't forget our father was career military. He would understand. So would our mother.” He paused. “We think.”

 

“Oh,” Paha answered uncertainly. “Still, no need to draw undue attention to ourselves. Or to push our luck.” But whether she meant their luck with the laws of Djircelle, or their luck with whatever forces The Fund had hidden amongst the people of Djircelle, or their luck with the parental half of the Hyllus family, Vector had no indication.

 

As Paha finished her preparations, Vector headed to the corner of the _Phantom_ that served as the crew's private armory, and selected one of the spare electrostaffs, hefting its weight in his hand experimentally. The exercise had more to do with getting a feel for the balance of this staff than it did with selecting this weapon over any of the others: the pacifist law of the city limited his option to this one alone. With the bludgeoning ends removed and secreted within a scan-resistant pocket of his suitcase, it looked quite innocuously like a simple prop, such as any traveler accustomed to walking long distances might carry.

 

With the electrostaff stripped down to its most innocent appearance and its components safely stowed in the luggage at his feet, Vector stood absentmindedly in the lounge; any casual observer would have thought him merely calm and contemplative, judging by the expression of composure on his face. But in the stiffness of his shoulders, in the way he idly passed the staff, one end resting on the floor, back and forth between his hands, which never stilled, there roiled cues of his inner anxiety.

 

Paha emerged from their quarters and set the bag in her hand alongside the other sundry bits of assembled luggage, momentarily averting her gaze from Vector's, feeling self-conscious. There was still a purple flush in her face as she straightened and reached up with one hand to smooth her hair in a motion that betrayed the nervousness she was attempting to hide, although it trembled noticeably in her aura as she met his eyes, riveted on her.

 

“Well?” she asked, more lightly than she felt. For the first time in Vector's knowledge – aside from the highly memorable occasion of the slave's dance outfit – she was dressed in a skirt; a sensible, trim, knee-length piece in gray with a tidy white shirt and a sleek dark jacket that would neatly conceal the scabbard of her vibroblade when she was past the security checkpoint and at liberty to strap it across her back. Given that her daily attire consisted of her uniform or tactical flack jackets, this was quite a change indeed.

 

“Very,” he said, his gaze sweeping approvingly over the length of her figure. He stopped as he arrived at her feet. “Are you wearing heels?”

 

“Too much?” she asked with a sudden surge of anxiety, and the hot color in her cheeks deepened. “Or not enough?”

 

“Neither,” he answered honestly. “Just right. We just didn't know you even owned any. You look perfect.”

 

“Although I don't know how much that will get me,” she admitted. “I think I might have just made myself all the more awkward and uncomfortable.” With nervous energy, Paha made a sudden grab for the bag she had just set down. “Maybe I should change –”

 

Vector caught her hand swiftly, enfolding it within both of his own, feeling the blood and tension that hummed beneath the azure skin. “Perfect, we said,” he repeated with quiet emphasis. He pulled her into the circle of his arms, and they held each other for a long, silent, still moment, each noting the jittery turbulence that strung like taut wires shivering through the other, and through themselves. But there were also the wires that were strung between them, and those, when plucked, rang out like music, deep and sweet and strong. His heartbeat no longer sounded so strident, and Paha raised her face from his chest.

 

“I only get this one chance to meet your parents for the first time,” she mumbled. “I don't want them to think you married someone slovenly. I'd like to do you credit.”

 

“You could never do otherwise,” he declared. He made a sort of grimace. “Considering they appear more worried that we wed a Killik, we doubt that is the foremost concern in their minds. Although... we appreciate it. Are you ready?”

 

“Are you?” she countered, slipping her holodisguise cuff around her wrist.

 

“Good point.” Vector squared his shoulders. “But it's just another mission. Just another negotiation, after all, right, Legate?”

 

It wasn't, and they both knew it.

 

“Right,” she nodded.

 

Eleven minutes later, the Djircelle Spaceport holocams caught the utterly unremarkable appearance of a brown-haired man and an auburn-haired woman, each with a shoulder bag and a hard-shelled case, strolling casually out into the streets of Djircelle. No one paid them the slightest bit of attention.

 

\- - - -

 

Djircelle was a glittering city, veneers of silver over a structure of sturdy durasteel and stone; the glow of Imperial glory overlaid on a foundation of Imperial might. The center of it, clustered around an upright line of a half-dozen or so skyscrapers, stretched generally southwest to northeast along a narrow plain on the southeastern edge of a great lake, or inland sea, and was backed on the east edge by a series of low steep hills that elevated much of the suburbs and treated the inhabitants to excellent sunset views across the city and the watery expanse of the lake beyond.

 

It was towards the middle flanks of these rises that Vector conducted their journey over flat, well-built roads that hugged the sinuous curves of the hills with expert Imperial engineering. The dwellings here were comfortable, attractive, and generous in size, constructed on terraces sculpted into the slopes of the hills, and Paha didn't need to ask for confirmation that while the Hyllus family weren't rich, they certainly didn't live either in the downtrodden side of town, if one existed in Djircelle. She trusted that one did. One always did, not matter how spit-shined the rest of any settlement appeared.

 

No, these were agreeably middle-class dwellings, pleasant and fashioned all to the same template during reconstruction, save for what alterations had been made on private budgets over the past two or three decades to suit personal tastes. The houses were all single-story affairs comprised of two parallel wings separated and connected by a wide central room which faced the street and boasted a solid front door. If seen from above, Paha decided, they would look a great deal like the letter krill, although with the upright stroke moved centrally and substantially widened. This layout created two inner yard spaces encased between the wings, the foremost of which stretched from the street to the entrance and which many used for handsome, if fairly unimaginative, gardens, with the back yard often relegated to more utilitarian use; Paha caught glimpses of evidence for workshops or vegetable gardens or other commonplace occupations of those who were so fortunate as to live here, far beyond the touch of war and poverty and need. The edifices were evenly spaced with some four or five meters between, which appeared to be generally used for speeder storage or similar purposes.

 

For all intents and purposes, this was, for her, a truly alien world. This was a community, these were neighbors – contented people waving to each other in the evening sun as they arrived home from their honest and productive employment to husbands and daughters, wives and sons. She had no common ground with it, or frame of reference to consider what she previously never really given thought to: how happy and fortunate a childhood Vector must have had, secure from the threats of hunger or cold or fear within all the snug walls, repeated in row after row of homes occupied by healthy mothers and present fathers. But then – Vector's father hadn't always been present, she realized. Vector's privilege had not insulated him from that harsh reality. His father was a soldier, summoned by the Empire to fight where he was told; Adronik had been a young captain when he had met Sessali, and what rank had he achieved before his retirement? She wished she had thought to ask.

 

The taxi speeder came to a stop at one corner, and Vector stepped out, with a nod to her to follow.

 

“It's not this one; it's the next street over,” he explained, his voice strangely apologetic. “We thought it best to – should anyone know we're here – we did, that is, give advanced notice of our coming, and our arrival might be known to others, and we had better not arrive with the disguises still active, in case anyone were to notice, or know of our coming – although we doubt very much that our parents would have spoken of it much – or at all – to the neighbors...”

 

He broke off as Paha set down her case and took his face in her hands, the holodisguises buzzing with the interference of the clashing signals. She could feel him shaking under her touch.

 

“We'll be okay,” she said sincerely. “Everything will be okay. But stars above, please don't ask me how, because I haven't the slightest idea. But it will be.”

 

The warmth of her hands on his cheeks steadied him, and her reached up to curl his fingers around her wrists, his thumbs moving slowly over her skin; he started to turn his head to brush her palm with his lips, then stopped abruptly.

 

“Damn it all,” he muttered, far down in his throat, raising his head to take a quick glance about the vacant street. He let go of her wrist to poke at the holodisguise cuff strapped on his own; with a stuttering flicker, his blondish brown hair vanished. “Would you please turn that off?”

 

She laughed, and she did, and he breathed an easier sigh as blue skin replaced the pink, and indigo hair the mop of red curls.

 

“Perfect,” he said for the third time that day. He spent a moment indulging in the fiery glow of her scarlet eyes, and then he bent his head to kiss her, not a quick peck, but a lingering, meaningful dance of her lips with his. “Well, then, shall we?” he inquired a moment later, brushing a finger along her jaw affectionately. “As we are now, the both of us – just as we should be.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I'm taking foreeeevvvvveeerrr to get them ANYWHERE. It's not that I'm trying to drag it out; I'm just trying to build the sense of tension and dread Vector and Paha both have for the approaching encounter. Paha would rather be doing, oh, just about anything in comparison to this. Vector would rather not have the pain of his past hanging over him, but he fears that the cure might be worse than the ailment.
> 
> I was going to describe the houses as looking, from above, like the letter H, with a very broad horizontal stroke, but then it dawned on me that aurabesh doesn't have an H, so I had to scour the aurabesh alphabet to find something similar.


	16. Hyllus Homecoming

The stroll along the street to the Hyllus house was short, but it felt nonetheless long to both of them, and Paha was thankful that the dinner hour had generally served to empty the streets. Now that she had turned off the holodisguise, she was unusually self-conscious about her Chiss appearance, something she habitually displayed with a nonchalant and defiant pride. Her head was up, however, and her chin level, and her step at Vector's side sounded in his ear as reassuringly confident.

 

Vector drew them to a stop in front of a dark brown place of the same uniform outline and trim appearance of all the other houses on the street, and with a similar excellent view of the corporate towers in the city below, but which boasted a front garden that was a cut above those seen in the neighboring places, bearing such exotic cultivars that Paha suspected they were not native, but were prizes from Adronik's pan-galactic travels. A few seconds passed during which Vector did not move, and then, taking her arm in his own and squaring his shoulders as one steeling himself for a thoroughly disagreeable task, he stepped resolutely up the straight path that led through the blossoms to the front door.

 

Their arrival had been not only expected, but watched for, as evinced by the door being opened instantaneously at Vector's knock. An older man stood there, straight-backed and upright despite – or due to – one hand being propped on a slender black cane, with salt-and-pepper hair that was rather more salt than pepper now. He looked sufficiently like Vector that no further explanation of kinship was necessary, but had there been any question, it was put to rest at once as he stretched out his free hand.

 

“Vector,” he said. His voice was quiet, quieter than Paha had expected from a military man, but it certainly was not weak. This was a hale and hearty man, regardless of whatever injury hindered his gait, and the softness of his tone was the effect of emotion, obfuscated thought it was, not age or infirmity. There was a beat of time, one that seemed to extend in breathless tension for an eon but which could not have been more than a second or two.

 

“Father.” Vector's voice was likewise overlaid with far more layers of emotion than Paha could decipher, but his hand was steady, though slow, as he extended it to meet the one held out to him, an initial gesture of reconciliation that he could scarcely believe was so readily offered. “Hello.”

 

It startled him how firmly his father gripped his hand; the sincerity with which he wrung it. His own state was mired in too much turmoil for him to clearly read the signs in his father's aura that would instruct him on his emotional state, but by all the surface portents, the greeting seemed genuine. In all his mental visions of this first meeting, the one that had seemed the most remote, the most fantastical, was a hearty welcome, and it nonplussed him for a moment. The feeling of Paha's arm brushing his, the waft of the fragrance of her being, pulled him back to himself, and he hastened to speak again.

 

“Father – this is Legate.” He turned toward her slightly, and she put on a politely pleasant smile. “She is our wife,” he added, somewhat unnecessarily. “Legate – our father, Adronik.”

 

“Legate, hey?” With something other than his long-lost son to snare his attention, Adronik seemed to fit back into himself, and to fit more into Paha's expectations of a career campaigner; he assessed her in a frank gaze that took her in from head to toe in one swift glance and promptly appraised everything it saw.

 

“Military, if I don't miss my guess! There's a look about those that are. Well, come on in, then, the pair of you!” he invited roundly, stepping back to offer easy entrance. “You're just in time for dinner; you can just leave your things here for now; Kait will take care of them later.”

 

As Adronik led them into the main room of the house, Vector discovered himself unexpectedly relieved by the slower pace set by his father, and hard on the heels of this relief he was gripped by a terrible sense of shame. To be _grateful_ for the injury that half-crippled his father because it offered a few additional meager seconds of delay before he would be brought face-to-face with his mother – he almost visibly winced from a repentance so acute it was nearly physically painful. The faint brush of a familiar hand, cold in touch but warm in intent, against his own gave him courage he felt guilty for needing and comfort he felt he did not deserve, but welcomed with silent but fervent thanks, and he glanced back quickly over his shoulder to acknowledge it with a look that needed no words.

 

Thus it was that Vector, through no fault of his own, failed to see how his mother, framed in the kitchen doorway, extended her hands towards him in a motion that mingled eagerness and anxiousness, hesitation and impatience, and when she, not understanding that his ebony gaze was focused elsewhere, found he did not make a corresponding action to meet her halfway, she yanked her hands hastily back. When Vector laid eyes on his mother for the first time in years, he saw only that her hands were occupied in wiping themselves on a towel. If he had been too agitated to adequately read his father's state, he was even more so now, and his mother's deeper feelings, muddled and painful, remained obscure.

 

This simple exchange, or rather lack thereof, compounded an age of misunderstandings; he fretfully assumed that his mother had no greeting for him beyond the basic civil words she spoke, that she was still disapproving of all that had occurred in his life after his posting to Alderaan, and that she was still bitterly angry over his refusals to acquiesce to her wishes, while she took his bashful uncertainty as cold, aloof reticence, alien interference over what had once been a warm human heart, and continued rejection of all she had instilled in him as a frequently single mother, and by extension, a rejection of her. But she had promised herself she would be courteous, if she could not be affectionate; she still cared, even if Vector's apparent negligence suggested he did not.

 

“Welcome,” she said in a voice that was composed to the point of nearly total detachment. Not _welcome home_ or even _welcome back_ , just _welcome_ , as though he were nothing but a stranger.

 

 _And aren't we that?_ Vector found he asked of himself. But he answered her with similar civility, and it did nothing to bridge the gap between them.

 

Everything about their initial evening in the Hyllus house was uncomfortable. The conversation was the stilted, awkward sort that occurs between cautious strangers and friends grown vastly distant by time and circumstance, and dinner brought the relief that food, instead of speech, could occupy their mouths. The dinner was delicious, Paha found, but she ate modestly, partly from nerves, and partly from self-consciously not wishing to appear either greedy or at ease when the atmosphere was so palpably stiff. In her early life, meals were brief things, lasting only long enough to swallow the necessary mouthfuls to sustain a body another day, and her Intelligence work often required speedy and unstructured meals, shoveled down at irregular intervals. It was only after discovering the culinary programming of Toovee, and suffering the well-intentioned haranguing of Doctor Lokin, that she began to give any deeper thought to her eating habits. The Hyllus family seemed of a different opinion; there were signs that it was routine for them to linger over dinner at length – and tonight, that meant prolonging the awkwardness. Only Adronik seemed apparently comfortable enough to do thorough justice to the food, the result, perhaps, of long experience of military life, where no problem is improved by hunger, and any meal might be a last.

 

“We do,” Adronik added, apropos of nothing, “expect Elsy to come up tonight. Actually, I'm surprised she isn't here yet; it's already after dark.”

 

Vector froze with his fork halfway to his mouth. “She knows we are here?”

 

“We did mention you were coming,” Sessali interjected in a low voice, one that anticipated additional trouble.

 

“And she –” Vector broke off. He had been about to ask, incredulously, _And she is still willingly visiting in spite of that?_ but it didn't strike him as a particularly useful or polite question. “She doesn't live here any longer?”

 

“Splits a flat with a workmate downtown,” Adronik replied. “Likes the hustle and bustle in the city; at that age, all that noise and movement seems like excitement, and maybe even makes an adequate substitute. But I'm sure I know different – you too, Legate, hey?”

 

“That's one way to look at it,” Paha conceded the point. “Military life – the most intense excitement you'll ever have, separated by lengthy stretches of excruciating boredom. It does make the prospect of leave, and true peace and quiet, very appealing.” Beneath the table, she quietly turned her foot and pressed it to Vector's, and he gave an equally silent nudge back; both of their thoughts had flitted, just briefly, to Xaastu.

 

“Best description I ever heard,” Adronik nodded affably. “And all the more reason I'm thankful for what I've got here. Bit of land, a sturdy house, plenty to occupy me, and a perfect woman.” He leaned from his position at the head of the table to wink audaciously at Sessali beside him.

 

“Well, Vector's got at least _one_ of those,” Paha said glibly, lured into teasing humor by Adronik's easygoing manner. She could have bitten her tongue off when she caught sight of the faintly shocked expression on Sessali's face. Given the way Vector's foot took the initiative to rub against hers this time, he at least seemed to agree, whatever his mother's opinion on the matter was.

 

“Long time gone for me, that sort of excitement,” Adronik was saying, apparently without heed to any sense of embarrassment in the room. “Plenty of it when I was younger though, that's how I ended up with the leg. Druckenwell, that was, same year they sacked Coruscant. Whole thing was a mess; nearly a complete disaster, but old Broysc pulled our fats out of the fire at the last minute and turned the whole thing to victory. Devilish lot of casualties, though. Took them near on two days to find me under the rubble with my leg pinned –”

 

“Dear,” Sessali interrupted. “I'm sure they don't want to hear all about that –”

 

“Quite right, of course – so you, Miss Legate, you, I'm sure, must have some stories. Where have you served?” Adronik asked.

 

“Oh, all over, really,” Paha hedged. “Dromund Kaas, Tatooine, Hoth, Alderaan...”

 

“It's how we met,” Vector put in, feeling he should do something to support the conversation, rather than leave it all on Paha's shoulders.

 

“Naturally!” Adronik smiled. He was, at the moment, more interested in old war stories than romances, and he veered straight back to his topic. “Lots of travel, then! What division are you with?”

 

“I am... sort of a special attaché,” Paha answered, and she was spared the need for further explanation by the sound of the front door opening, and a footstep in the entry.

 

“Stars, Mamma,” said a loud, youthful, girlish voice, coming closer in time with the approaching footsteps, “What's with all the bags? You thinking of running away before Vec-”

 

A young woman breezed into the room and froze at the sight of what met her eyes. She had a round face, with a chin just pointed enough to make it seem heart-shaped, with full cheeks beneath wide gray eyes. Her hair bounced in a light brown bob on her neck, her nose was small and upturned, her manner was one of vivacious mirth, and overall, she gave the impression of one who would easily be described as “cute.” She could as easily, Paha suspected, be considered vain and thoughtless.

 

“Vector,” she finished, her wide smile vanishing instantly. “I thought you wouldn't be here until tomorrow.”

 

“We only just arrived,” Vector said, pushing down an irritating notion that he aught to apologize for his presence as he slowly stood. “Before dinner. Hello, Elsian. Legate, this is my sister. Elsian, this is our wife Legate.”

 

“Please, sit down,” Sessali rapidly offered, standing to pull out the empty chair beside her own. “You're just in time for dessert. Who would like tea?”

 

There was a certain insistence in her tone, a standing upon the ceremonies of a hostess to maintain order about her, and something like a quiet desperation to head off an explosion before it could come to pass. Sessali's interruption, Paha noted, spared Elsian the need to offer either Vector or herself a polite greeting. Elsian flounced to her chair, while Sessali summoned a droid servant from the kitchen.

 

“Kait, please ensure that our – that Vector and Legate's bags are taken care of,” she commanded. “And bring the tea things.”

 

“Of course, master,” the droid said in its vaguely feminine voice before stumping off.

 

“Legate here was just about to tell us some stories of her military career,” Adronik went blithely on, leaving Paha to wonder if his obliviousness were the result of determination or genuine ignorance. “Special attaché to... a Moff, I would guess?”

 

“Military attaché?” blurted Elsian, helping herself to a stack of cookies. “That's not what Anora told _me._ She said you were a spook. You know, Imperial Intelligence. That you _both_ were," she added with distinct emphasis.

 

Hell and stars, Paha thought. They _had_ told Anora that much. Who would have thought she would have blabbed it to Vector's little sister? Forget thoughtlessness, Paha decided, Elsian knew exactly what she was saying. Was it too late to just start stabbing people and sort it all out later?

 

“You're not in the Diplomatic Service anymore, Vector?” Sessali inquired, stunned into addressing him directly.

 

“No. We were recruited by Intelligence.”

 

“On Alderaan?”

 

“Yes, Mother.”

 

There was a pause, and just as Adronik was about to fill it with more of his native garrulousness, Sessali leaped into the silence first.

 

“Before or after?” She clenched her teaspoon in her hand. “The... your....”

 

“After we Joined the Killiks.”

 

Elsian snorted aloofly. “You make it sound like it's a sabacc league or social club or something. Gave you a membership card, did they?”

 

“You knew about this, Elsian?” Sessali asked with quickness and dread, as though it were impossible for her to continue to maintain the conversation with her son. She stared at her daughter like she were a live grenade she would fling herself bodily upon if it became necessary.

 

“Only recently,” Elsian shrugged, between mouthfuls of cookie. “She – Anora, of course – told _me_ when I told _her_ that _you_ said Vector was coming to visit, because I called her to tell her, of course, and _she_ said she didn't think Intelligence even _allowed_ vacations or to go anywhere where there wasn't a job –”

 

Paha very artfully kept her face carefully composed, aware that Adronik was looking at her now with renewed interest, when the old interest had not yet even remotely been exhausted.

 

“– and of course _I_ had to know what she meant by that, and that's when she told me _all_ about running into Vector on the Imperial space station. Varric, or Vokken, or whatever it's called.”

 

“Vaiken,” Paha corrected in a low voice, wondering if she should bother.

 

“That's the one. Said it was, oh, two or three months back.” Elsian widened her eyes innocently. “When did you say you two were married? I think Mamma read it to me in your letter.”

 

“Almost three months ago,” Vector replied, his voice emotionless. There was an undercurrent of strain hidden far down in its depths, tied to the tensed muscles in his arms and legs. “We're not sure what you're getting at, Elsian.”

 

“Me?” Elsian's eyes fluttered even wider, and Paha had to give her some credit for her command of her facial muscles. She adjusted her opinion a second time: not only did Elsian know exactly what she was doing, she knew how to do it with deliberate cruelty. “Why, nothing at all! But oh, that reminds me, Mamma, Anora tells me she has leave soon, and I told her that _of course_ she needs to come for a visit. I promised her I'd take her out on the town for a night of fun, poor thing needs it so; she's been so very downhearted. And _naturally_ I told her we'd all go for dinner together, the _four_ of us, just like old times – why, Vector, whatever is the matter?”

 

“Nothing at all, Elsian,” he replied, hoping that of the other four occupants of the table, Paha alone would be able to see the boiling rage that seethed just under his skin, and it was rage only because if he let himself feel anything else, it would manifest on his face as tears. “We simply require the lavatory.”

 

As the sound of Vector's long-legged stride receded, Sessali's warning look at Elsian seemed to quell the girl into at least a momentary silence. Sessali fell back, again, on the duties of a good host and housekeeper.

 

“I'm sure you must be tired from your travels, Miss Legate,” she ventured. “Kait has put your things in your room – I'll have her show you.”

 

Paha leaped to her feet, hoping her wish to flee the scene was not as obvious to her in-laws as it was to her, and, forcing a smile and a complimentary word of gratitude for the meal, put herself thankfully into the hands of the droid maid.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, Vector's family. I'm enjoying writing them quite a lot, even more than I had expected I would when I started outlining them in my head. Since so much of what I write has been interactions between Vector/Paha, there is, of course, no awkwardness about his part-Killik state, and I wanted to really explore how others would see and treat him - concrete examples, not just off-hand descriptions in passing - and his family is the best, and most crucial, means of doing that. His family represent the spectrum of reactions: Paha is so completely at ease with him that the prospect of him being other than the human/Killik hybrid she knows is frightening to her. His father is tentatively accepting and hopeful for a continued relationship, his sister is decidedly _not_ accepting and not afraid to show it, while his mother is caught between more demands on her love and expectations than she ever thought she would suffer.
> 
> Although Sessali isn't one of my favorite people, she has become one of my favorite characters to write (I have drafts of several other scenes with her) because there's a lot of nuance to her baggage. She is truly torn between her memories of who her son was (and who she wants him still to be) and the reality of who he is now - she wants to accept him and love him as he is, but it is so difficult because she thinks of him as fundamentally altered from everything he was. She is so scared of seeing the differences that she refuses to even look for the similarities, but she recognizes that Elsian's rudeness is likely to drive Vector away for good, after which she will have no chance at all to recover even a part of her son, let alone the whole. I suppose I shouldn't reveal too much about her character here, but let the story do the work! 
> 
> I do have to give a nod to Elizabeth Cleghorn Gaskell's Victorian novels "East Lynne" and "Sylvia's Lovers," both of which I just finished reading recently, for giving me some practical instruction on how to structure characters that love each other but so profoundly and completely fail to understand each other. I won't resolve the conflict with people dying, like Ms. Gaskell does, however. Although I wouldn't object if people want to strangle Elsy for her catty attitude, however. She got her father's gift of gab, but somewhere, she learned to use it damn vindictively.


	17. Isolation Room

“Your room” turned out to be a tidy guest bedroom at the end of one of the two wings of the house, occupied by a comfortably broad bed, a chair, and a desk. Her bag and case had been placed neatly against the wall before a set of closet cabinets. There was no sign of Vector, or his luggage.

 

“Thank you; this is lovely,” Paha said to the droid. “You're Kait, I think?”

 

“Teeone Kayait, madam,” the droid replied with an incline of her head and a surprisingly perky tone. “The masters prefer to shorten it to Kait. The masters ask that I assure you I will endeavor to address any wish you may have. Is there anything you require?”

 

“No, thank you,” Paha answered, automatic and too quickly, still feeling her presence as a burden on this household. “Ah, no, wait – where is Vector's bag?”

 

“In his room, madam,” Kait replied with another respectful nod. Her programmed voice bounced with automated and impersonal cheer. “Is there anything else you require?”

 

“Which room is his?”

 

“Three doors down the hall. The room beside this one is Miss Elsian's. The next is the lavatory. Then Mister Vector's. The masters' room is on the end. Is there anything else you require?”

 

Paha had thought that after Toovee's effusive servility, there couldn't possibly be a droid personality that was more irritating, but the bubbly animation of Kait's voice, which could be considered somewhat bothersome on its own, became downright grating when incongruously paired with the typical clumsy, herky-jerky marionette movements of a droid. She shook her head negatively, and as she watched the mechanical servant stump off down the hallway, she spied Vector emerging from the lavatory. A flash of her eye and slight motion of her head brought him immediately to her side, and a quick glance into the room told him much.

 

“Your mother does know we are married, right?” Paha asked quietly with raised eyebrows.

 

“We're certain we were quite clear about that. One moment.” He stepped out, and was back barely a quarter minute later, his face solemn to the point of being grim.

 

“Our things are in our room. Our old room.”

 

“So Kait told me. Maybe the droid made a mistake,” she suggested helpfully.

 

“Unlikely. Kait has always been very particular about her duties, and Mother is even more so. This was deliberate.”

 

“She did make a point in saying she had kept it all as you had left it,” Paha recalled. “No sense in doing so and then letting you sleep somewhere else. Especially if she wanted to interject some space between you and your supposedly Killik wife.”

 

Vector's lips compressed into a thin line, and his brows furrowed. “We will talk to her. We don't intend to tolerate this; it's rude.”

 

He started to turn away, but Paha quickly laid an arresting hand on his forearm.

 

“Wait – wait!” she insisted. He halted, and looked down at her with some frustration and impatience as he waited for her to consider her words. “Vector, I am a guest in your parents' house. And I recognize their authority – over their house, and over me while I'm in it. That means I abide by your mother's rules while I am beneath her roof. If she wants me to sleep here, then that's what I will do. She has her reasons, even if we might not agree with them."

 

"That may be so,” Vector replied flatly, folding his arms, “but we aren't about to stand by while she treats you disrespectfully."

 

“She hasn't. She's given me lodging in a lovely, comfortable room, one of the best I have ever been in and certainly better than anything I had growing up.”

 

“But it is also disrespectful to _us_ ,” Vector pointed out distinctly. “She needs to know that we won't accept this sort of treatment. This interference with our life.”

 

“Wait, again,” Paha said, once more preventing him from departing with his dudgeon intact. “Consider this, then: your mother thinks you don't respect her opinion or wishes anymore, right? If you go to her and start an argument on our first night here, she will use that as evidence that she was right.”

 

Vector sighed heavily. “And we'll only entrench her in conviction that she's correct, and make her as determined as ever to change us to what she thinks she remembers.” He dropped his hands to his sides with a shrug that bespoke despondent futility. “We see your point. Therefore we shall smile and be gracious to her for her meddling.”

 

"I was thinking more along the lines of 'pick your battles.'” Paha tilted her head towards him and a little to one side. “Maybe there _is_ a bigger fight brewing; or maybe everything will smooth out. But we just got here. Let's not have the incendiary ordinance start flying quite so soon.”

 

“Very well,” Vector conceded at length. He was not, after all, looking forward to the prospect of discussing his life decisions with his mother, and he was loath to accept the fact that Elsian seemed keen to provoke exactly that. He fell silent again, turning over the knot of his troubles, wondering how they could ever be untangled, and his fingers toyed with hers without his realizing it for several minutes, until a rather impish glint dawned in his eyes, and his gaze refocused on her.

 

“It isn't like we couldn't just sneak into your room after dark.”

 

“Stars above, you really are trying to get me in trouble,” Paha objected. But despite her veneer of levity, he saw she wasn't joking. “Vector, you can't. Don't ask me to subvert your mother's wishes in her own house. Please.”

 

He gave her a narrow look, one that nonetheless impressed upon him all the apprehension and nervousness and anxiety that lay hidden beneath her calm and competent exterior. She was fiercely determined for this to go as well as it could; she would quietly do whatever she felt was necessary to give Vector the best chance to regain his peace with the family of his childhood. It wasn't that she was turning him away or rejecting him, she was choosing a path calculated to produce the greatest results, even if it meant choosing to endure personal hardship to bring about the desired outcome. This wasn't a new strategy; Vector remembered Corellia and the parallel made him profoundly uncomfortable. But he knew, too, there was no gainsaying that fiber of durasteel that wove through the fabric of her aura and body. He might disagree with his mother's behavior, but he couldn't disagree with Paha electing to respect it.

 

“Okay,” he said quietly, all trace of teasing gone. “We understand.” He turned away and passed a hand over his eyes. “Everything about this has been a disaster. We're not sure why that surprises us.”

 

“Give it time,” Paha said softly, soothing her hands from his shoulders down his arms. “If there is anyone in the galaxy who can handle a negotiation this delicate, it's you.”

 

He gave her a sadly grateful half-smile, and replied, “But we know that's not the only reason we're here. What's our plan for tomorrow?”

 

“Some scouting to start. I hope you are ready to serve as my tour guide for downtown Djircelle.” She didn't bother outlining the bonus that this would get him out of the house for the day, but knew he'd appreciate it.

 

“Easily. And we had an idea for getting inside the banks. We open accounts. A perfectly normal thing for a perfectly normal, newly-married couple to do.” He settled his arms around her waist. They might have been put in separate bedrooms, but no ruling of his mother's was going to bar him from embracing his own wife when he wanted to.

 

“Naturally,” Paha answered, beaming a smile on him. “And very sensible, too.”

 

“It's only fitting for us to show some responsibility for our financial future, right?” He bent his head to kiss her lightly. “Who knows; maybe it might start to convince Mother that we haven't ruined our life.”

 

“I wouldn't put credits on that,” huffed a voice just beyond the doorway.

 

Vector inwardly implored for patience before turning his head. “Elsian.”

 

His sister stood there, her chin jutting impudently. “I hope the room meets your approval, _Miss_ Legate,” she smirked. “We're not used to having Chiss guests. Come to think of it, I think the _last_ guest we had in this room was Anora, when she came to visit me last year.”

 

“The room is fine, thank you; you're very kind,” Paha answered smiling blandly. With firmness, she added, “Good night.”

 

“I'm sure you remember where _your_ room is, Vector,” Elsian sniped viciously. “Unless, of course, you don't. You could ask a passing fly to point you in the right direction, if you need the help.”

 

“That's an excellent suggestion,” Paha said, fire-eyed and ice-lipped, her tone killingly polite. “Thank you; good _night_.”

 

“Sleep well, Miss Legate,” Elsian said with a toss of her head. It seemed it would take a little more than her usual arsenal to nettle this blue-skinned interloper, and she resolved to up her game before their next encounter. Her gaze flicked coldly to her brother. “Vector.”

 

After Elsian flounced off to her room, Paha finally turned her eyes to Vector's face.

 

“Disaster,” he repeated hoarsely. He swiftly pressed his lips to Paha's brow, and she nearly shuddered at their touch: cold, dispassionate, impersonal, like a kiss from a statue rimed in frost, and he had pulled away before she could reach for him. “We'd better go to our room. We would like to take some time tonight to commune with the hive. Good night.”

 

Paha stood still for a long moment, debating on following him, and finally thinking the better of it. His humanity – and, frankly, her own – had been sorely tried all evening, and the open, unfettered welcome of the Oroboro Colony could offer him a comfort that was, she recognized, quite different from, and no rival to, what she could give. It was the best course of action for him now; their acceptance was absolute, a surety on which he could always rely even when his native family was behaving in so deliberately distant and provoking a manner.

 

She had a moment of second-guessing, as moments later she emerged from the lavatory after washing before bed, and she overheard the indistinct sound of muffled voices issuing from the master bedroom. It was Adronik's voice, sounding slightly aggrieved, and somewhat pleading.

 

“...just... him as... normal,” he was saying, only a handful of his words audible. “Vector.... our son.”

 

Sessali's answering voice was more understandable, sharpened louder with grief. “How can I treat him like normal when he isn't normal anymore?”

 

Paha, feeling exactly zero guilt for eavesdropping, cast a glance at Vector's door. His position was closer to his parents' room than where she currently stood, and although there was a second door between him and the source of the sound, he had to have heard it. He had to. His hearing was far more acute than hers. She took a half-step forward, her hand raising to knock, then she lowered it slowly and returned to her room. If he were meditating or communing with the hive, her presence would be a disruption, and he had been disrupted so many times and so severely today. After she secured the lock behind her - Elsian was right next door, after all, and not a thing about her behavior so far had impressed Paha with any positive estimation of her trustworthiness - she lay down on the chilly, unfamiliar bed, took a few minutes to compartmentalize her worries and troubles into little boxes in her mind, each of which she sealed away from her thoughts until she needed to open them one by one in the morning, and dropped off to sleep.

 

\- - - -

 

Vector's night was no where near as restful. The Killiks had received several alarming signals from their Dawn Herald, and it took a good deal of convincing to assure them that he was not under attack, he was not injured, he was not in need of rescue, and it was certainly not necessary to send an army, avenging or otherwise. That had been the easy part of the conversation.

 

The Killiks were often confused by human behavior – the vast majority of their Joiners, which were a minority to begin with, were simply subsumed into the hive will, and individuality was never something they needed to think about. Pre-Joining experiences were absorbed into the biological database of the hive, but these focused generally on knowledge and skills, and had much less to do with interpersonal communication. In truth, even sound-based speech was a comparatively new aspect in Killik social evolution: when every member of the hive was linked by a shared mind, what need was there for vocal communication?

 

In the history of the Killiks, adopting Joiners arose first from the Killik inability to communicate with the fragile, soft-shelled creatures that came exploring, meandering about with such shocking inefficiency and aimlessness that it was clear the hive mind that controlled them was quite mad. It had made perfect sense to eliminate these diseased hives before their infection spread, and it was more or less by accident that a handful of survivors, after long exposure to the pheromones of the Killiks who studied them, trying to comprehend their silence, became the first Joiners.

 

It had been a moment of stunning clarity for the Killiks: never had they imagined that there were autonomous creatures in the galaxy that could operate independently of hive control. The failure of the humans to communicate was not the result of insanity, disease, or offense, but simple inability. The first Joiners, eons ago, broke down the barriers of communication, and the Killiks began to understand how other races relied on sounds to convey thought, cumbersome and slow as that was. As the Killiks developed the capacity for sound, an age of their own music dawned for them – and an age of Joiners.

 

The Oroboro Colony occasionally felt wholly flummoxed by the information their Dawn Herald sent them, and there had been once or twice some vague debate as to whether permitting him so much individuality might endanger the hive, but he had repeatedly demonstrated a more than appropriate level of concern for the colony: protecting it from danger, ensuring its survival, and more than that, its advancement.  And so he was permitted to continue in his own fashion, provided he was liberal with his sharing. Few other hives, if any, were learning the sorts of information Oroboro was receiving through its galaxy-travelling Dawn Herald. They had learned to be patient with the conflict and confusion his individuality brought, as there was more than ample payoff in improving the experience of the Colony.

 

But it wasn't always easy, and this was one of those times. The idea of non-acceptance among a group was a problematic and bewildering one for the Killiks. A member of the hive was a member of the hive for life – even beyond, as that member's memories became a permanent fixture in the hive's collective knowledge. While there had been rare occasions when a hivemate had wandered away, dying elsewhere insane and alone, it was outside their understanding to deliberately drive one out of the collective. To be a member of a bonded group, and then to be expelled, or barely tolerated, made no sense, particularly when the ostracized member had valuable skills that could benefit the whole. The behavior of the Dawn Herald's native clutch was befuddling – illogical, self-defeating, and, judging from Vector's emotional state, dangerous.

 

It was a very long night for Vector: where he had anticipated turning for solace and acceptance – which, it is true, he did find in some measure – his consolation was tempered with no small amount of Killik confusion, requiring lengthy clarifications and explanations, and a degree of patience he wouldn't have expected himself to have after the aggravations of the day. The Killiks of Oroboro were still a bit fuzzy on the notion of individual rejection, and more than a little dubious regarding Vector's bizarre determination to continue his association with those who did not seem to want him, but they accepted his decision without steadfast objection.

 

In the small, dark hours of the night, Vector's open eyes traced invisible patterns on the ceiling of his old bedroom and he reflected that both his human family and his Killik family alike found him a disconcerting and complicated enigma. The thought left him feeling more alone than he had ever felt before.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Paha is generally respectful of, and typically obedient to, authority unless she has a _really_ good reason to be otherwise. She's proud, but she won't make waves over protecting her pride if doing so means causing worse trouble for someone important to her. So while she is cognizant of the insult inherent in her and Vector being put in separate rooms, she isn't interested in taking it personally at this stage. There are bigger things that require her attention. On the other hand, Vector has a much clearer view of why this arrangement is not okay, and recognizes, as Paha does not, the age-old issue that faces so many new couples: the shifting of priorities away from the old family towards supporting the new - something that not all parents handle gracefully even under optimal circumstances.
> 
> 2\. I don't write bitchy/bratty characters often, mostly because I'm dubious on my ability to do so, but Elsian is starting to amuse me, which means she's getting easier to write, melodramatic little witch that she is.
> 
> 3\. The Killiks find all of this wildly confusing, so they'll be hassling Vector often for clarification - so he finds himself caught in the middle of poor understanding on both sides. Makes him all the more thankful for Paha, at least (Awwww :) ). There is another slight Inspiration Nod to"Ender's Game" in the initial fundamental issues of establishing communication between a race that is so linked that vocal speech never evolved and a race that is so individualized that it can only communicate vocally. It's an extremely good and logical point, but I can't take credit for thinking of it first.


	18. Emotional Inertia

Routine and an unfailing biological clock awoke Vector in the pre-dawn twilight, despite the little sleep he'd had. Shipboard life, with its set schedules and deep-space travel, far from the motions of any planet around a star, removed him to some degree from one of his duties as Dawn Herald that he always found the most fulfilling: the greeting of the rising sun. Xaastu had been the first span of time in a very long while in which he could perform this little ritual as a daily occurrence more than once or twice consecutively, as was often the case during their planet-hopping missions.

 

He was quick to acclimate to the rhythms of a different planet, and here on Jurio, his body had already shifted automatically to old patterns his cells remembered from his boyhood. He rose, seeing no reason why he should not engage in his duties here as much as he might anywhere else. In truth, there was a certain steel-edged defiance in his decision to unabashedly salute the dawn, Killik-fashion, openly in the yard of his parents' house. Observation was the first step towards understanding, and understanding was critical for acceptance – so let his family see.

 

The hill behind the west-facing house obscured the earliest glints of the sun; it would have to make a steady climb before it showed itself above the apex of the hill, but while Vector awaited that moment, he took time to note how its rays, reaching up from below the unseen horizon, painted the air with gleaming rose and glittering gold, touching the hills and the houses and the spires of the city below with the softest brush of fire.

 

Every leaf in yard was limned in an exquisite ochre halo, the air perfumed with the heavy odors of damp earth and growing greenery, new sprouting vegetables and opening buds, and in the silence of the morning he could hear all the random motions of the early insects and worms, dancing through air and soil on their single-minded missions, elegant and purposeful in their simple clockwork-like melodies. For the first time since setting foot in Jurio, Vector felt some measure of peace, a genuine and effortless sensation, small though it was, that some part of him could still think of this place as a home.

 

Sessali, up and about after a night that had been as sleepless as Vector's, spied him from the main room windows, and she stopped in her tracks. From this angle, with his back to her as he faced the first light of day, he looked so much like her son that she could believe that it might indeed be him after all – the Vector she had borne, and nurtured and raised from infancy; the thoughtful boy who had shyly brought her flowers from his father's gardens, desultory patches though they were way back then; the youth who had never boasted about his excellent marks in school and who was forever poring over holomaps to learn the places his father was stationed; the young man who had brought his sweet-faced girlfriend Anora to visit and presented her to his parents with quiet pride. She held her breath as the memories flooded through her, and on their wake came the pain of knowing that the man now in the garden would turn – every passing second increased the probability – and he would see her with those inhuman, abyssal eyes, those black pits that so shrouded every recognizable trace of his soul that it made it nearly impossible for her to look at him. That visual collision course would impress upon her again all the things he no longer was, and it would shatter her. She tore herself away from the sight, and hurried on to the kitchen.

 

Vector himself entered moments later, and she silently despaired, scolding herself bitterly for not thinking that he would of course use the three short steps to the house's back door, bringing him into very room to which she had fled for refuge. He was more surprised to see her there than she was by his appearance; he had not anticipated anyone else would be up, and he was briefly startled into immobility.

 

“Good morning, Mother,” he broke the silence with carefully cultivated kindness; the restoring tranquility of the nature, both cultured and wild, outside had rejuvenated him and his sense of patience. Nonetheless, it still hurt to see how his mother averted her eyes from him. He stood quiet, and tried to keep his hold on his new-found serenity, giving his mother time to gather herself. Gather her _courage_ , he realized sadly.

 

Sessali, fussing with whatever happened to be on the counter before her, felt trapped. The man masquerading as her son had spoken to her, and was now waiting for her to reply; in her doubt-filled misconceptions, his silence spoke volumes of expectation that demanded her answer. Her mind flicked to the words of her husband the night before: _just_ _treat him as normal_.

 

And yet, still the crying voice within her begged, _How can I? How?_

 

It was a horrible thing to discover, well into her sixth decade of life, that what bravery she had sustained her whole life now deserted her so easily. When maternal pride had been sufficient to provide her the mettle necessary to raise her two children nearly alone, waiting day after day and year after year for the word that their father had been slain, would it now abandon her to the extent that she could not even say two words the man who looked so like her son? The man who claimed to still carry the vestiges of her own Vector within him? Could two words draw him out?

 

Determined to almost defiance, Sessali flung her head up suddenly, resolved to speak, and flailed momentarily for words until she blurted, “Would you like some tea?”

 

She held her breath in the cautious quiet; Vector hesitantly phrased an answer that he hoped would avoid any jarring personal pronouns. “Thank you. That would be very welcome.”

 

Without stopping to consider it, she reached automatically for the strong, aromatic blend that had always been his preferred flavor, pouring the hot water with hands that trembled slightly. In spite of her intentions, Sessali found she could not bring herself to give him the mug directly; she yet shrank from direct contact between their hands, and she set it before him on the counter instead, stepping back and self-consciously smoothing back her light brown hair. She had hazel brown eyes, eyes that Vector had inherited before they had been overwritten by the Killik void, but as regarded general build and coloring, it was Elsian who most favored her mother, as Vector did his father.

 

“Our favorite,” Vector murmured with mild wonder as he tasted the hot brew. “You remembered.”

 

He heard his mother's sharp intake of breath. It wasn't likely that she would have forgotten. The glimpse of her son, unexpectedly agreeing with her memories despite the plural language, shook her into the thought that perhaps, just perhaps, he _did_ still exist, and could be called out. Hope made her hasty, and careless.

 

“Vector –” she began breathlessly, “have you – do you ever – the last time we spoke. Do you recall?”

 

Vector stiffened, staring down into his mug a moment before answering. “We do. Vividly.”

 

“Have you given it more thought?” she rushed to ask before her nerve failed her. “Would you – could you, please – think of coming back to us? As – as you were?”

 

“As human, you mean?”

 

Sessali pressed her lips together, feeling a knot of emotion in her throat. “Yes, I do mean that.”

 

“We cannot. We know it is not the answer you would like to hear, and for that we _are_ sorry.” Vector took a long draught of air. “But it isn't possible.”

 

“It could be,” she offered with hesitant hope.

 

“But for us, it is not,” Vector answered, his voice as gentle as he could make it. “Even if it were possible, we wouldn't do it.”

 

“But why not?” Sessali could feel the sharp edge of disappointment cutting into her voice, and she just stopped herself from demanding why his native family had not been enough for him. What had they done that he would not return to how they knew him? How had they failed him, that he preferred allegiance to insects over herself and his father? Every question stabbed in her breast, an agony welling up from an ache that had dulled with time, but never faded from her heart.

 

“Because we...” Vector hunted for words to explain what he knew she would have trouble understanding. “We accept who we are. It took us some time to recognize that all things change, and people are no exception to this. You have changed, father has changed, as has Elsian. We are no different in this. Even without the Killiks, we would have changed, in some way, by some measure. We have learned it's a natural part of life. And so: we accept, rather than fight, this truism.”

 

In her emotional state, it was more philosophy than Sessali was able to cope with or willing to entertain. All she knew was that she, once again, had asked, with as much compassion and hope and welcome as she could muster, and he, once again, had said no.

 

“Then you...” She paused, swallowed hard, and could not keep herself from plunging onward, despite knowing the hazards in her path. “You won't even consider it?”

 

“Mother... we _have_ considered it. More than once, very carefully.”

 

Vector's response was soft, with tones of a gentleness that was, to her, wholly human, and, as with the illusory vision she'd had just a few minutes earlier, her heart reacted by crying out to her that this _was_ Vector, her own natural son, while her mind rebelled, protesting that however he sounded, the very fabric of his being had been rent and remade by insects.

 

Sessali choked down everything that threatened to immolate her outward calm: disappointment, sorrow, rejection, anger, guilt, disillusionment, blame, and resentment, trying to rally to ask one final question, one she had tried to force herself to believe was the only one that mattered.

 

“Are – are you happy?” she asked, the words raking over her lips in her struggle to get them out.

 

There was the sound of a step, unseen and far across the house, and Vector recognized its cadence, one of the percussive accompaniments to his life, less steady than a heartbeat, but more fanciful, always in pace with his own. "Yes, Mother," he answered quietly. "We are very happy."

 

Sessali had to turn away quickly as Paha entered; she was nowhere near ready to permit this alien woman outsider to see her innermost emotions and the turmoil they had placed her in. Like most of her race – so Sessali thought – that Chiss had an air about her, a manner of slyly watching her surroundings with a sort of shrewd arrogance, that Sessali found off-putting, even unnerving, and perhaps a bit insulting. It was in the eyes, the burning red eyes so lacking in definition, that made her seem cunning and creepy.

 

In those eyes without definition. Vector had such eyes now, putting him into the same disturbing category. The realization cut a deeper slash across the shredded sinews of her heart. What sort of a mother was she, to be repulsed by her own child? She stared down into the sink, pulling on her hostess armor.

 

"Good morning," Paha greeted cordially. As Vector turned to give her a smile, tinged with sadness at the edges, she noted the deep purple hollows of tiredness beneath his eyes; nonetheless, with a slight gesture of his head, he signified that he still intended to follow through on their plan. Sessali saw nothing of this silent exchange; she remained at the sink a few seconds more before she turned purposefully to return the greeting and offer the tea with distant civility, hoping her mask of polite calm did not slip as she rather awkwardly accepted her daughter-in-law's thanks and made a vague and insincere offer of “anything I can do for you,” little dreaming it would be seized upon.

 

“Actually, we do have a request,” Paha opened deferentially, digging into her bag of acting tricks and casting an open and innocent look from Sessali to Vector and back again. “Something in particular you could help us with.”

 

Sessali drew herself up slightly, lines in her face hardening with distrust. Not even twenty-four hours in her house, and already making demands of her, when they were already demanding so much that they didn't even know they were asking for. She knew it was irrational, and petty, and foolish, and hoped it didn't show on her face as she moved her head in a general motion to continue.

 

“We'd like to open an investment account, through NysBank, and we hoped you could walk us through the process,” Paha continued, as smoothly as if she had not noticed Sessali's discomfort.

 

It was becoming necessary to answer; it was imperative that she say something soon, but for a moment, Sessali, taken by surprise by the utterly mundane nature of the request, was speechless. Her unreasonable and instinctive mistrust of her new alien daughter-in-law made her knee-jerk reaction a refusal, but she suppressed the urge, pointing out to herself that her alien daughter-in-law hadn't, in fact, done _anything_ to warrant being treated with such disdain.

 

Other, perhaps, than give Vector the courage to wear his new hybrid nature with confidence. Was that not enough?

 

“I... suppose so. That is, certainly,” Sessali answered, her voice empty and dull from her overexertion to smother her emotional confusion. Her cheeks flushed faintly, and her eyes flicked uncertainly between the two before she continued, “But I'll be leaving for the office shortly...”

 

“We'll follow in a little while, after you are settled into your day,” Paha offered. She was not motivated by magnanimity; Sessali, she thought, could stand to be brought face-to-face with matters she seemed eager to close her eyes to, but that was Vector's call to make, and his subject to broach. Self-interest and locating The Fund were of greater importance than Sessali's comfort level, but if Sessali's comfort smoothed the way to advance the mission, then she would make that happen. 

 

“I _do_ understand,” she nodded with a close-lipped smile that Vector recognized as the kindest and most polished of her fakes, “I'm really very used to it; my kind are rare here, and I expect I'll stand out a bit. I'd rather not.”

 

With a deliberate motion that took pains to conceal nothing from Sessali's bewildered and suspicious look, Paha reached for the cuff on her wrist.  She had, after all, plenty of reason of her own for doing this incognito, but if Sessali could be persuaded that this was for _her_ sake, then so much the better.  The holodisguise settled in place over her, and Paha held her gaze with new grey-blue eyes. "No worrying about prying eyes or nosy neighbors.  I thought you would like to know in advance.”

 

Sessali pressed her lips together, catching their inner edges in her teeth. Paha had handily provided her with a cover for her awkward and distant manner, ostensibly supplanting Vector as the target of her embarrassment without forcing her to openly acknowledge her shameful inability to accept her son. It was a strange gift – to attribute her attitude to plain, ordinary bigotry rather than to draw attention to the truth of her unwillingness to parade her altered son - and his bright blue wife - downtown through the gawking human populace, among people who might know him, and ask questions later that were too difficult for her to answer. For a brief, blinding moment, she seethed with hatred for her daughter-in-law, for the way the alien woman saw through her so easily, and, she felt sure, judged her harshly for the struggle she had carried within her breast for years, flaring now with memories of the past and realities of the present. Saw her, judged her, and worse, pitied her for her weakness.

 

“I – I'm sure that will be fine,” she answered hastily. “Mid-morning, then?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. I actually do feel for Sessali. I'm trying hard to make her a sympathetic character, which is why so much of this chapter is focusing on her and her reactions to Vector (and Paha).
> 
> 2\. Way back in _Drones_ , Vector came to understand the nature of change. Clearly, he gets it from his mother. I have a few lines written for a much later chapter that develops this idea a bit more: with Adronik gone in service so much, she always wanted to keep the home as much the same as possible, that he would always feel immediately comfortable there. It became such a habit that change is a tough thing for her to face now.


	19. The Nystiera Financial Corporation

Sessali's windowless office was on the third floor, where she had risen to a minor managerial role overseeing a small force of specialists who handled accounts for petty-scale investors. It was not a critical position, or even a particularly important one, but it was hers, and she did it well, and she was proud of it and the financial trust the unknown public placed in her and her team.

 

Today she seemed distracted, however, her feeble smile small and wooden on her face as she made her mechanical morning greetings to the employees she passed along the way. Her actions were uncharacteristically inattentive, and her eyes flicked often and nervously towards the entrance to her little domain, particularly at the appearance of any client, although her eye fixed on none for more than a second or two. She gave no more than a glance to even the tall, dark blond man with appealing green eyes until she caught a glimpse of red curls behind him. With that, her professionalism dropped abruptly into place; as with her duties as hostess, she wore her role as her armor, insulating her from what was too difficult or inconvenient to handle at the moment.

 

The awaited couple entered her office; she shut the door, and after that, all was normal and quiet.

 

\- - - -

 

As she sat across the desk from her mother-in-law, it occurred to Paha that it was all well and good to use the Black Codex once to erase the traces of her existence a single time, but staying erased was far more difficult, particularly when accomplishing a mission objective involved putting herself very much back on the record. Their reason for assumed appearances was already in evidence, but no explanation other than the truth could justify the use of false names – a second layer of false names, in Paha's case – to Sessali. There was no help for it, and as the names of Legate and Vector Hyllus were indelibly entered into NysBank's electronic roll, Paha gave Sessali an abstract smile and added this to her mental list of post-op clean-up. And for there to be clean-up, the mission had to be accomplished in the first place.

 

When Sessali stepped out of her office on a pretense of Vector’s invention, Paha was swift to take advantage, and darted behind the desk with a data spike already in her hand. Her fingers danced over the consoles, routing through tunnels of systems rapidly, and she frowned as each one led, unexpectedly, to a dead end. The security programmers for NysBank might be good, or even very good, but Paha severely doubted they would outmatch a spike programmed by Intelligence, sent by Keeper and downloaded to her hands just that very morning. Paha scowled with frustration.

 

“We hear footsteps,” Vector cautioned, without bothering, or needing, to tell her whose they were. Her pulse gave a small leap – even she, with her years of harrowing experience, was not immune to the biology of adrenaline – and she yanked the data spike back, sliding it up her sleeve. When Sessali opened the door again, Paha was seated decorously in her chair, her hands neatly piled in her lap, one leg crossed nonchalantly over the other at the knee, just peeping out from beneath the hem of her skirt. Sessali, however, was so distracted by her own inner commotion that she likely would not have noticed anything short of Paha standing on her desk and declaiming the Sith Code in Huttese.

 

“You didn’t get it?” Vector surmised in her ear as he followed her into the hallway after leaving Sessali’s office. The meeting, all things considered, had gone well enough; with her focus trained firmly on business, Sessali had managed to keep her feelings at bay, which were now all the more muddled at hearing the voice of her son issuing from a person that now appeared wholly human, but was even more unlike her Vector than the Killik-altered reality was.

 

During the brief respite when she was out of the room, Sessali found herself wondering how much more she could take before breaking, and the perception of her own frailty prompted her to draw herself up proudly. Would she let the Killiks win so easily? Adronik eliminated invasive insects from his garden pitilessly; would she be less diligent regarding their hold on her own flesh and blood? Vector had said he was happy – but how could she trust the word of one whose personality had been overwritten by the words of thousands of others? She felt herself torn with indecision, and the pain of it, and her fear that the slightest accident might betray her and the truth about her son to her coworkers, pushed her to bury the nascent softening of her heart beneath strict professional detachment.

 

But was it a softening heart or merely professional detachment that made her extend her hand automatically at the close of the meeting? It was routine to do so to all her clients when she escorted them to the door, but she had been so reserved and careful it seemed unlikely that she would have merely forgotten. Vector, mindful of the public venue and the caution against touch regarding the holographic disguise, was forced, with a pang, to merely bow in acknowledgment and he saw how his mother's round face flushed, a mingled dance of shame and anger burning in her cheeks and in her aura. Twice now, bolstered by her sense of duty, she had summoned the courage to touch her son, and twice he had rebuffed her. And yet this morning, when she had tentatively relaxed her guard, she hadn’t even been able to hand him a cup of tea; _she_ had been the one to fail. She couldn’t decide if she were more disappointed in him or in herself.

 

As for Vector, he could only hope that he would be able to tell her the reasons later, before she had hardened herself to all mitigating explanations. For now, for the sake of their mission and for her own sake, he had to walk away. It stung, and some part of him reflected that it might be to Paha's benefit after all that she had no family to lie to.

 

Paha shook her head. “No, I didn’t,” she said, vexed and puzzled. “Something was blocking the installation. Let’s find some convenient quiet spot where I can make a holocall.”

 

A tiny, unused conference room proved to be both sufficiently convenient and quiet, or would have been, had it been unlocked.

 

“Not a problem,” Paha said smoothly, whisking a card out of her jacket pocket. She waved it in front of the electronic lock which disengaged obligingly. As they slipped inside, she glanced down at the card. “Thank you, Mr. Alboran Riguda.”

 

“Who is that, and how did you get his keycard?” Vector asked, one eyebrow inching upward with curiosity.

 

“He’s the unmitigated ass who was so rude about sharing the lift this morning,” Paha replied with a smile whose sweetness did nothing to mask its wicked glee. “Perhaps he’ll be more careful in the future about jostling his neighbors.”

 

Paha handed the keycard to a highly amused Vector, and dialed up Keeper. She was surprised to get Watcher Three instead, looking, if she had to put a name to it, slightly flustered – enough so to make Paha wonder how life was progressing at Intelligence under Sith rule.

 

“She – Keeper, that is – has read me in on this one,” he admitted with the barest hint of self-consciousness. “I’m actually who put the spike program together.”

 

“I don’t doubt your tech,” Paha replied, “but I couldn’t get the bank software to accept it. Ideas?”

 

Watcher Three’s impassive face became a mixture of puzzled and grim. “Patch it through your holo and I’ll take a look.”

 

For a few moments, there was no conversation, just the holographic image of Watcher Three intently poring over the data display. When he raised his head again, the puzzlement was gone, but the grimness was not.

 

“The tech is fine,” he confirmed. “The problem is someone beat us to it. No prizes for guessing who.”

 

“I’m sure,” Paha sighed. “So what do you mean by ‘beat us to it?’ What’s the full story?”

 

“From the looks of the system feedback on the spike,” Watcher Three explained, “it appears that your target, or one of his associates, has made some changes of his own on the bank network. More than just a spike, and more than just a little installation at an unprotected terminal. Based on what this is telling me, the security software at this institute is extremely good – there aren’t many places with systems this sophisticated, these banks might be second only to what we have here at Intelligence. Monitor programs, maintenance droids, and patrol daemons making organized sweeps and running constant diagnostics for viruses and infiltrations of exactly the same sort we’re trying to implement. It’s going to take something of equal sophistication to subvert these systems – and I don’t mind telling you that my spike wasn’t going to cut it, even without what the Fund has done.”

 

“Which is what, exactly?” Paha inquired. “If he didn’t use a spike, what did he use?”

 

“Some slicers call it a superspike, but it’s most commonly called a spider, as that is exactly what it looks like,” Watcher Three said. “Several spikes, joined to a central unit, each one independently programmed to subvert some part of the bank software, but working in conjunction. Every time a security sweep locates it, the spider reroutes the protocols to appear as just another innocuous bit of programming. But the number of different measures this would have to account for – it’s considerable. And impressive.”

 

“Not too surprising, considering what we’ve seen come out of the Cabal before,” Paha remarked.

 

“Right. And you can thank that Codex you recovered that I was able to get this much intel on this this quickly. We’d be in much worse shape here without it,” Watcher Three pursed his lips.

 

“The next question is: how do we find it and get rid of it?” Paha asked.

 

“That’s going to be a lot more difficult, sad to say,” Watcher Three frowned. “The first and foremost demand on a spider is to avoid detection. They're meant to hide from sensors that are far more sensitive than a simple pair of eyes.”

 

“You’re saying it could be anywhere?”

 

“Not quite. The Fund couldn’t have left it in just any old terminal.” Watcher Three rubbed a hand thoughtfully over his chin. “For this to work, the spider would have to be installed at the mainframe level. The heart of the system, inside any of the firewalls between the mainframe and the satellite terminals of the bank. Any idea where those are?”

 

“Yes,” Paha replied, stifling a groan. She had made it a point to ask Sessali about cybersecurity, couching it in terms of a natural concern for their invested money, and she had received the answer that the main bank servers were kept on-site, isolated from any contact with external systems, and stretched upward through five full stories of the building, from the fifth floor to the ninth.

 

“If you can find it and extract it,” Three continued, “there’s a chance we can analyze it and find a way to scan for its signal – it will, at least, make your searches of the other banks that much easier. But for the first one? It’s all legwork. Sorry, agent.”

 

“Don’t be,” Paha said. “You’ve given us our best lead yet. I'll let you know when we've found something."

 

Paha ended the holocall and was just turning to say something to Vector when, with a step so swift it was nearly a leap, he caught her in his arms, sweeping her against the wall where he pinned her with his weight and his hands and his lips. It startled her; it wasn't the first time they had shared some display of affection in the middle of a mission, but it was a good deal more passionate than their usual kiss for luck. Some small reflexive part of her had a knee-jerk impulse to struggle, but a much stronger part of her was much too eager for the pleasure of his skin against hers, buzzing with the static of the holodisguises, to succumb to such a silly prompt.

 

She was doubly glad of it a second later when, simultaneously, the door opened abruptly and Vector jerked back, inserting just enough space between them to ensure the interference of the holodisguise signals was quelled and, coupled with the look of impudent guilt his features assumed, to give the intruder a sufficiently clear idea of why there were two people locked in the conference room.

 

An ordinary building janitor stood in the door, a smirk sliding across his features and a droid in dull gray metallic, armed with a bucket and mop, standing placidly behind him.

 

"Looks like our break time is over, darling," Vector said audaciously, slinking back another step. He threw her a thoroughly lecherous look, and it looked so ridiculous on his borrowed features that she only barely choked back a laugh by biting her lips and widening her eyes with exaggerated innocence. "Until this afternoon, anyway. Shall we?"

 

It was truly amazing, Paha reflected, the way he could manipulate language to hide his use of the Killik plural. Feeling the burn in her cheeks, Paha was sure that her face was so violently purple that it must be showing through the holodisguise. Not that that was a bad thing – it was a perfect sell of a perfect cover. She skulked out the door and scuttled away down the hallway as Vector drew the maintenance man in to the conspiracy with a broad wink of his false green eye.

 

“You know how it is,” he shrugged; by trusting the custodian's silence rather than demanding it, Vector secured him to confidentiality. With a nod, he sauntered away, and ducked around the corner to where Paha was waiting, stifling her giggles.

 

“Oh, well _done_!” she gasped in a whisper when she could speak. “You know, that's twice of late that you and those clever lips of yours have saved our hides!”

 

He gave her a satisfied smile, slightly spoiled by its appearance on the still-foreign terrain of his disguised face. “We do what we can. Or maybe we were just looking for an excuse to kiss our wife.”

 

“That part was the cleverest of all, love.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Considering I know jack and squat about computer programming and cybersecurity, particularly in relation to finances, trying to write a believable plotline focused on white collar computer-based crime might not have been the best track I've ever taken. But... there's plenty in-game that is a little hand-wavy, so the same will apply here. I'll try to keep the plot surface intact; just don't look too deeply into the little cracks around the edges.


	20. Spiderweb

Vector craned his head, staring upward through the hulking pillars of server stacks, technological monoliths each sixteen meters or more in height with slender metal catwalks and stairs as steep as ladders strung like webs in between.

 

“It could be worse,” he offered helpfully. “It’s not, for example, as large as Network Access on Nar Shaddaa.”

 

Paha wrinkled her nose with a wry moue and swept her gaze over the vista. “Thank the stars for small mercies, I guess,” she sighed. “How fortunate, too, that Mr. Riguda happens to be an information systems specialist. I don’t imagine an ordinary bank teller would have access here.”

 

She tucked the keycard into her pocket and switched off the holodisguise, stretching her arms a little. Weightless though the holodisguise was, she yet found it oddly constraining after wearing it all morning, and she wondered idly how long it had taken Hunter to get used to having on all the time. She wanted to wear her own skin again, if just for a little while, and as they weren’t under the direct gaze of the people and public holocams of Djircelle, they might as well save the battery life on their cuffs.

 

“I don’t know if these are likely to interfere with any of the systems here, either,” she pointed out as Vector similarly resumed his normal appearance. “But it’s possible they might. Last thing we need is to trip an alarm.”

 

“There are holocams, though,” Vector said, gesturing to a solitary lens suspended on a support strut not far away. “More than we could reasonably take out before being seen.”

 

“Maybe we don’t have to take them out,” Paha mused, turning her attention to a wall console beside the door and delving into the security subroutines. “Watcher Three made a good point when he said that someone – The Fund, that is – beat us to all of this. Who knows how long ago, but he did it, which means he had to confront all the exact same problems that we are facing right now. So what would have been his first action?”

 

“The same as ours, presumably,” Vector reasoned. “Then you think the internal holocams here have already been subverted.”

 

“They must be, in order for him to have walked in and installed his spider. It might have been temporary, just to get the spider in place, but he may have made it part of the spider’s programming, so he could come and go at will,” Paha said, flicking through screens. “Ah, here we go. The security footage feed. And… isolated down to that holocam there. Would you mind walking in front of it? Just waving a hand will do.”

 

Vector tossed her a skeptical look. “It’s a good thing we trust you,” he commented, nonetheless hazarding out from the shelter of the doorway.

 

“Well, I could always just be wrong,” Paha replied cheerfully. “Wouldn’t that be fun? Considering we’re both essentially unarmed.” She had her vibrodagger in its sheath strapped to her back, beneath her jacket, but she would be the first to admit that it wouldn’t give her much in a fight against the sort of security forces NysBank appeared to have.

 

Vector raised a somewhat tentative hand in front of the holocam, and replied conversationally, “We’re sure that would do wonders for our mother’s career: her wayward son and daughter-in-law discovered slicing into her employer’s systems. But,” he added thoughtfully, snapping his fingers a few times boldly now before the holocam’s opaque and glossy lens, “We doubt you’re wrong. We’ve talked enough that our voices would have been picked up by now, and no one has come investigating.”

 

“And won’t, so long as we don’t do anything colossally stupid,” Paha confirmed, looking up from the panel. “The security footage has been set to a delay. About thirty seconds, from the looks of it. Any unusual activity caught on the holo is sequestered and replaced with clean footage from earlier recordings.”

 

“Sequestered? Not deleted or overwritten?” Vector inquired as he returned to her side.

 

“No, it’s saved,” Paha pursed her lips, digging through layers of files and directories. “It looks like it's shunted into storage outside the security subroutines.”

 

“So The Fund can keep an eye on what is going on here even when the bank cannot,” surmised Vector.

 

“I’d say so.” Paha fell silent as she pulled up lines of code and skimmed them intently before inserting a few changes. “But I think I can get the system to delete any footage of us rather than dumping it in The Fund’s little treasure box here. I’m no expert slicer though; Watcher Three would be horrified at this hack job I’m doing here.”

 

“We think even Watcher Three would agree that effectiveness outmatches elegance any day. Although he seems to have an appreciation for both, we think.”

 

Paha stepped out from the shadowing arch of the doorway and surveyed the towering technology again. “We should do this systematically, and without spreading out too much. Take the access walks in pairs, one above and one below, and work each level row by row before moving to the next layer up?”

 

“Would you like top or bottom, then?” Vector inquired, his tone even but his quirking eyebrow betraying him. The warm and rosy hue, a residue from their heated and all-too-brief embrace in the conference room, deepened in Paha’s aura, incongruous with their sterile and cold surroundings.

 

Paha smirked archly. “Bottom,” she said decisively. “You’ll be less likely to get distracted trying to look up my skirt.”

 

He paused with one foot already on the first narrow tread of the metal stair, and leaned over the slender railing, bringing his face close to hers with a smile that was equal parts amusement and affection. “Should we be hurt that you subscribe such motives to us? Or merely dismayed that you discerned our intent so quickly?”

 

“Neither,” she answered, kissing him briefly. “Because if we didn't have work to get done, I'd let you.”

 

“Cruel,” he commented with a mild little laugh, his eyes pursuing her as she began inspecting the bottom level of computer banks. As he continued his climb to the first walkway above her head, he added, “To show us what we can't have while telling us we could, but for circumstances.”

 

“Or an incentive,” Paha countered. She glanced up, and paused at seeing Vector's face peering over the railing back down at hers.

 

“We missed you,” he said quietly. “Last night.”

 

His eyes glittered in the half-light cast by the glow of the computers behind him, and she looked into them for a moment, feeling the way they seemed to pull her upwards into the dim heights of this massive chamber before looking back at the pillars of databanks in front of her.

 

“I did, too,” she admitted. She took a slow step along the servers, surveying them closely. “I never thought I could get used to sharing a bed with someone. Especially so quickly. Especially not to...”

 

She trailed off, awkwardly aware of her inability to articulate her meaning, and a moment later, Vector, his voice low as he faced the computers he was searching, supplied his own. “To the point where without them, it feels as though the bed were spread with blankets of silent cold and vacant fog.”

 

“Something like that,” she said softly. “Something very much like that.”

 

A few moments later, she added in a stronger voice, “I'm still not disobeying your mother, though.”

 

Vector's response was confined to a simple noise that, if Paha had to write it, she would have spelled as, “Hmph,” and she could not keep herself from chuckling. Conversation dwindled for a long while as they walked along row after row of databanks, carefully shifting connecting wires as each computer was inspected for the elusive device whose existence they could only suspect and whose appearance they could only guess.

 

It cast Paha's mind back to Intelligence and her old allies there, and as she mounted the stairs to the fourth catwalk, she stopped, rubbing the ache from her neck, and wondered, “I wonder how Watcher Three is coping with the new command structure. I've only ever seen him rattled twice before – the worst was when the Sith seized headquarters, and a little when I argued with him about Isen Colony. It must be awful there now, poor man.”

 

Vector gave her a funny look. “Is that what you thought it was?”

 

Paha froze in the act of rolling her shoulders and opened narrowed, puzzled eyes at him. “What did you see that I didn't?”

 

“We can't do a full read on someone's aura just over holo,” Vector cautioned. “We can see the electric field around them, but there is no way to detect the biochemicals at work. But – we could sense enough. And he _did_ pick up on Keeper's private encrypted line...”

 

Paha's eyes bolted wide. “Keeper and Three are lovers?”

 

He hoisted a shoulder. “We think it appears that way. Or at least sleeping together, if you care to make the distinction.”

 

“Lucky Three,” Paha quipped, but she sounded generally approving of the situation. “Stars know that everyone in this line of work needs someone once in a while. Or more than that,” she added. She mulled it over more as she continued up the narrow step ladder.

 

“It makes sense, though,” she said, turning to look down at her husband. “Both of them bred geniuses, both of them used to insane hours and crazier demands, day after day and night after night, under all kinds of stress. It can push people together in the strangest ways.”

 

“That wasn't our excuse,” Vector replied as he climbed the stairs. “Or reason.”

 

“Oh? Then what was?”

 

“At first, we were curious. You were so different from anyone we had met before. And when we knew a little, we wanted to know more. We spent a lot of time wondering what life was like for one who kept herself so isolated. For one who sang her song utterly alone, like a single shard of a star gleaming in the dark. But then we realized we couldn't see the divisions in the verses, between the knowing and the understanding and the loving, as they were all one harmony.”

 

Paha turned that over in her mind for a moment or two, then her scarlet eyes gleamed with a cheeky glint. “Because I was alone? Are you saying you kissed me out of pity?”

 

His deadpan reply was interrupted by the faintest flicker of an impertinent smirk. “Oh, only the first dozen or so times. After that it seemed to have become a sort of habit.”

 

Paha was still muffling latent giggles when, over an hour later, they found The Fund's spider at last, four floors into their search. Her amusement was quickly stifled, however, and she rubbed her fingertips strongly across her brow as she sighed in annoyed exasperation.

 

“He's wired it to a thermal detonator,” she pointed. “The bastard.”

 

“The question is, is it there merely as a fail-safe,” pondered Vector, “or is it part of his longer-term schemes? That is, is it there just to keep people from removing his device, or is The Fund planning on blowing up the bank servers – or even the banks themselves?”

 

His voice took on an a secondary layer of strain, and Paha was reminded of something she had set aside in her mind as they searched: Sessali spent over eight hours a day in this building. Mishandling this meant not only that her failure would ensure the escape of The Fund, but also the deaths of hundreds of Imperial citizens, all but guaranteeing a horrible and bloody end for Sessali. Darth Jadus and Eradication Day had served to make Paha cautious; as critical as it was to capture or kill The Fund, protecting innocent citizens of the Empire was of paramount importance, both professionally and personally.

 

For how could she look her husband in the eye again if her actions directly led to his mother's murder?

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mostly an expositiony chapter, but I tried to throw in a few cute or funny gems, particularly when it occurred to me that this would be the first time in a long while that they would have slept separately. And I tried at least to end it on a note of interest and tension.
> 
> And I hadn't given it much thought until now, but yeah, I'd ship Keeper/Three.


	21. Bombs Away

“I really ought to make you leave,” Paha observed. “That way at least one of us is guaranteed to survive.”

 

She didn’t turn her head to look at him; her attention was trained on tracing tangles of wires between the bank servers, the multi-spike spider, her holocommunicator, and the thermal detonator nestled innocuously nearby. Vector, sitting with his back propped against one of the massive vertical support beams and his elbows resting on his bent knees, found no fault with that state of affairs; he wasn’t bothered in the slightest to play second fiddle to The Fund’s incendiary device, given the situation. He watched the slow trickle of anxious adrenaline dripping into her aura, trying to entice her calm competence into an agitated dance, like autumn leaves on a cold wind. It was rebuffed at every pirouette; she kept her fear so far at bay as to not even acknowledge it, but for all that, unmistakable tension was gathering slowly, like a far-off storm cloud, and had been since her discovery of the thermal detonator.

 

“Survival is never guaranteed,” he replied sensibly, “as you know better than most. And as much as we’re curious how you’d manage to force us to go, we’ll tell you in advance that you are better off keeping your efforts focused as they are now. We have no intention of leaving.”

 

Still she did not turn her head, but he saw the faint twitch of the muscles at her lips, and saw the little wave of gratitude that rippled through her, and her wish for the comfort of his presence battling with her wish to put him out of the direct path of danger. Instead, she picked up her holo and quite gingerly patched it into an open port on the spider, hoping she wasn’t about to blow them all sky high.

 

“What can you tell me, Watcher Three?” she asked quietly, as though, irrationally, just the vibrations of her voice would be enough to trigger the detonator. “Regarding disarming this thing, of course. How is it set up? What will set it off, and will my removing it tip off The Fund?”

 

“One thing at a time, Agent,” Watcher Three admonished patiently. “I’m still downloading the data. Let me have a few minutes to look it over. I’d rather not rush this.”

 

“Neither would I, so please don’t,” she answered, smoothing down the frayed edges of her demeanor, betrayed briefly by her rapid-fire questions.

 

It was close on half an hour later that Watcher Three had finished his analysis, cross-referencing the programming between the spider and the detonator with known designs and documented creators, looking for signature techniques and hallmarks of certain proud makers as well as the safest and most expedient method of disarming it. Although his first search was unsuccessful, unsurprisingly so, given the Cabal’s penchant for secrecy, his second was far more encouraging; in short order, he was feeding Paha instructions in a quiet, steady voice, which she followed with quiet, steady hands.

 

Vector waited nearby, forcing himself to remain seated to avoid the urge to pace restlessly, and he found himself mentally delving into the calming, droning songs of Killik meditations to maintain his stillness. It was a marvel, he thought, how Paha could be so calm, not just in appearance, or even just in motion, but throughout her being, despite the heady tension that buffeted about her. The stress was there, no doubt about it; it wasn’t that she nihilistically neither felt nor cared for danger, it was more that she was able to weigh herself with the task at hand instead of the strain of worry, and it steadied her, as a rock among howling winds. Her breath was even, her hands stable, her vision clear, and her aura shining as a beacon, and still the seconds ticked by with an inexorable and torturous slowness.

 

When she had finished, and had slid her slender fingers out of the cramped space around the detonator, she slumped back on her heels with a long and cleansing intake of air, and let her eyes, overtaxed in the dim light, fall shut.

 

“Well done, Cipher,” Watcher Three said, using her old name quite unconsciously, but it was the touch of Vector’s hand, stretching to brush her own, that roused her. She cast him a look of tired and heartfelt gratitude, and stirred herself to reply.

 

“I assume,” she said, her mouth and throat dry, “that there should be no problem installing our spike now?”

 

“Piggyback it on The Fund’s spike,” Three decided. “I’ll walk you through it. We get to see the bank records, and maybe what he’s trolling for. And he’ll be none the wiser, at least for a little while. Score one for the good guys.”

 

Although Paha’s knees protested as pulled herself up to kneel again on the hard grid of the platform grates, she gamely told Three she was ready. Compared to disarming the detonator, splicing their spike into the spider was almost laughably easy.

 

“Thanks, Watcher Three,” Paha said with a smile; giddy relief tinted it with a undercurrent of impertinent meaning. “Give Keeper our best. And yours. As I’m sure you do.”

 

“I’m right here, you know, Cipher,” Keeper’s voice cut in pithily as Watcher Three flailed, the warm dark hues of his face deepening substantially with embarrassment.

 

“I guessed you would be,” Paha answered. “It is your _personal_ holo, after all.”

 

“And while we’re on the topic of pointing out the obvious,” Keeper continued, “I’d like to remind you that _officially_ , you died on Corellia. I have more than enough resources at my disposal to ensure your physical state matches what’s on the record.” She was stern-voiced, but for all that, there were veins of amusement running through the rock of her exterior.

 

“I know you do, just as you know I can keep a secret,” Paha answered pleasantly. “So accept our good-wishes and we’ll be in touch when we’ve got something substantial to report.”

 

She ended the holocall and glimpsed Vector staring at her wide-eyed, a smile toying at his lips.

 

“We can’t believe you just did that.”

 

“What, disarm The Fund’s bomb, or tease Keeper?”

 

“Um, well, both, but mostly the latter.”

 

“My needling Keeper is more astonishing to you than my disarming an advanced explosive?” Paha’s eyebrows shot up.

 

“Says the woman who refuses to defy our mother,” Vector retorted wryly. “We’ve seen you work before. We _don’t_ often see you tweak authority.”

 

“On occasion. If I have good reason,” Paha chuckled. “You _do_ know that Keeper has been keeping tabs on our relationship, right? Marriage, honeymoon, and all?”

 

“She has?” Vector looked nonplussed.

 

“Yes, so turning tables is only fair. I’d bet my sniper scope she has the date of our first kiss in a log in my file. Along with _many_ other events. Probably in detail,” she added significantly. She was rewarded with the sight of a red flush creeping rapidly up Vector’s face, and he muttered, “Oh, stars,” in a dismayed tone.

 

She laughed as she leaned to bestow a peck on his crimson cheek. “It’s hardly different from your link to the hive!”

 

He opened his mouth to reply, then stopped upon reflection, and admitted, “We suppose that is true enough. We just hadn’t thought of it so…”

 

“Intimately?”

 

“Intrusively.” He caught her by the elbow to steady her as she stepped off the last riser of the steep staircase. He didn't intend anything more, but she tipped up her face and kissed him again, this time with a fervor that rivaled his abrupt display in the conference room and he slipped his arms around her, a soft hum of serene happiness low in his throat.

 

“What was that for?” he inquired a delicious moment later.

 

“Keeper's records, since she is so meticulous about keeping them,” Paha answered with facile promptness. “If you think a reason is really necessary!” she added as she lifted her chin with a lofty smirk. There were other places in this city, she thought, that were not comprised of separate bedrooms and did not come equipped with overanxious or meddlesome in-laws, any one of which might be easily found – after a requisite meal first, of course.

 

“I’m famished,” she announced as, several minutes and two activated holodisguises later, they stepped out onto the Djircelle street. Like nearly all of the main thoroughfares downtown, it was a wide and comfortable promenade, smooth and well-made, with a narrow, tree-dotted median strip held in place by pale gray stonework. Citizens strolled and strode by with their attentions directed to their own concerns and private quests, without a second look or spare thought for the couple that stood outside the bank in seemingly idle conversation. “Lunch was hours ago. But I think I recall something about a promise of Tionese noodles.”

 

“There _was_ ,” Vector conceded with minor hesitation as he glanced briefly skyward, judging the position of the sun in the western sky.

 

“But…” Paha prompted, mentally seeing her half-formed plans already tripping away.

 

He looked uncomfortable, and it was a testament to how used to the holodisguise she was becoming that she could read his expression through it mostly easily now. “This morning, just before she left, Mother asked if we would be back for dinner. We said we would be. She then asked if we would help with preparing it. Both of us.”

 

Vector's awkwardness seemed to increase with this speech rather than diminish, and Paha blinked at him, more bewildered than she cared to admit, and, feeling a faint sense of unease, said nothing.

 

“And… we implied that we would. If by _imply_ we mean…well, _promise_ ,” he admitted, shifting his stance slightly. The apprehension that Paha had kept so well controlled inside the bank had faded completely away, but in its wake, total dread flooded into her aura with hardly more than a token effort to stave it off. He rushed on lamely, “It was always a family practice. Making the meal together as well as eating it. We should have told you so sooner, but… we thought it would only distract you.”

 

He was probably right about that, but she simply looked at him wordlessly, seeing little point in reminding him that she was a self-professed failure at kitchen domesticity. When at times in her life there had been periods where there had hardly been food to eat much less a stove to heat it on, the notion of collectively preparing a family meal was almost wholly outlandish to her. Sessali’s was an odd request: she had suffered them to lodge under her roof, but could scarcely bear to occupy the same room. She had spoken with them at length about professional matters, but was unequal to sustaining a personal conversation beyond a few words. She stared at her son with haunted, needy eyes, but had yet to bring herself to embrace him as a mother. She strove ceaselessly to maintain her pleasant veneer as sorrow and anger burned in the hidden recesses of her heart, and yet shrank from the horror of a confrontation that would resolve her torment one way or another for good. It didn’t bode well, frankly. And that was _before_ the complication of Paha in a cook role was thrown into the mix.

 

“We think,” Vector added pensively, either deducing Paha’s thoughts or his own tending in the same direction, “that this is the song of her trying.”

 

 _Sessali trying_ – a tiny, feeble hum, barely more than a buzz, small and frail and desperate, like a moth in a spider’s web, and inaudible to most, or even perhaps all, except for Vector and his inexhaustible supply of understanding and forgiveness. Paha took a breath, and tried to ignore how her empty stomach flip-flopped.

 

“Well!” she said, letting out the air in a rush. “And here I thought disarming an explosive was going to be the difficult part of my day.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Vector is honest, but he isn't always forthcoming. Of course, there is a time and a place for anything, and he usually has solid reasons for holding something back, as he had in this case. Sometimes, it's just that the information he has isn't relevant until circumstances make it relevant (his expertise on Voss, in game, for example). Sometimes, it's just compartmentalization of personal concerns in favor of mission objectives. He's certainly not alone in this sort of thing, though.
> 
> 2\. _Sessali trying... a buzz_ : I'm dating myself here, but back in the late 90s, there was a period of time when you couldn't turn on the radio without hearing the song "Brick" by Ben Folds Five. The band didn't last much beyond their hit, but Ben Folds stayed in music, largely on the production side of things and occasional judging stints on some singing talent show or other. One thing he produced in the early to mid 2000's was a full-length album performed by William Shatner (yes, THAT William Shatner, the Captain of the _Enterprise_ ) called, if I recall correctly, "Has Been." This album is phenomenal. 
> 
> This is not William Shatner performing Elton John's "Rocket Man" in [jazz lounge style from 1972](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lul-Y8vSr0I) at the Sci Fi Film Awards (the origin of the Zapp Branigan parody on the Futurama episode "Amazon Women in the Mood"), nor is this like Leonard Nimoy's "[Ballad of Bilbo Baggins](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AGF5ROpjRAU)" or "[Proud Mary](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NGvompB8Ol0)" (If you want to know more about celebrities heinously destroying songs with bad covers, check out [Golden Throats](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Golden_Throats), which sounds pornographic, but isn't). In general, Star Trek actors haven't fared as well in their singing careers as Star Wars actors - Christopher Lee released several metal tracks, including two Christmas albums, right up to the year of his passing, and Ewan MacGregor, encouraged by doing his own singing in _Moulin Rouge_ , put out a full album before his work as Obi-wan Kenobi.
> 
> This lengthy digression aside, Shatner's album "Has Been" is actually and honestly freaking amazingly good. He collaborates with many other artists, including Joe Jackson and Henry Rollins, and nearly every track walks a carefully crafted line between self-depreciating humor, truth, and some stunningly introspective poignancy. One track, "That's Me Trying," is performed with Aimee Mann of the band Til Tuesday ("Voices Carry" was a big hit for them in the 80's) and discusses the inability of a father to connect with his daughter after years of being estranged, and the feeble, halfhearted attempts he makes to reach out to her, not knowing what else to try after such a long silence, perhaps fearing that anything stronger will be so pushy that it cements the wedge between them even further.
> 
> All of this is to attribute some credit (again, not a direct quote, but close enough that I'll admit to the song being in my head) for the last word of Vector's in this chapter: _Above the quiet, there's a buzz - that's me trying."_


	22. Matters Foreign and Domestic

“We used to help our mother in the kitchen often, in our childhood,” Vector reminisced as they strolled along the hilly streets that led to the Hyllus house. He had been quiet for much of their return trip, sifting through old memories, marking those he recognized as his own, and letting those that did not drift away, back into the hive consciousness. “Perhaps that is how it came to be a joint activity for us all.”

 

As he walked, he meditated on that idea for a moment. It was almost hive-like, in a way. A small group of individuals, united in purpose, each with set tasks to accomplish a common goal, the benefits of which would be shared in an equal enjoyment and be all the more satisfying for being a sum that was greater than any one unique effort. When each knew their part, and could sing it with confidence, then the resulting rhythms and chords could move planets and people alike. He wondered how horrified his sister or mother would be if they heard him express that idea. Perhaps, stated less bluntly, it might be an opening. A way in, across the invisible barriers that blocked their communication.

 

“Father occasionally brought back herbs or spices or delicacies from the places he was posted,” he added as his mind thumbed through old images and smells from a long-ago life. His voice warmed with the recollection. “It was always a challenge for Mother to figure out how to use them, when we often didn't have the other native ingredients they would originally have been used with. She could work miracles at times, we thought.”

 

“Ahh,” Paha answered, enlightened. “And now I understand the origin of your fondness for Mirialan spices.”

 

"It was rather a shock when we discovered that what we had thought of as Mirialan cuisine, made by our mother's hand, bore very little resemblance to the real thing," he laughed a little. “But by that point, we had already developed a taste for such bold flavors. She taught us quite a lot,” he added in a softened tone that wordlessly mourned the loss of the closeness they once had shared, side-by-side under the same roof, in the same kitchen, at the same stove. Paha began to suspect that Sessali’s invitation contained more latent hope within it, more striving to reach her son, than any of her shielded words could convey.

 

“That must be how you gained all that cooking skill of yours,” Paha observed. Her tone was even and neutral, but Vector spied the flutter of an off-key jitter shimmying in her aura, something that failed to align with his mental images of harmonic family resonance. In the midst of his hopeful reflections, he had until this moment missed the idea that he had, in essence, forced a part upon his wife that she did not know how to sing with any level of assurance, and it occurred to him that without help, the song would falter.

 

“There’s no shame in not knowing how to cook,” he consoled her mildly.

 

“Isn’t there?” Paha answered rhetorically. Elsian, and perhaps Sessali, would certainly disagree, she inwardly felt sure. “I’m not entirely helpless, you know; I often did the meal preparation for myself and my mother when she was working late. But there isn’t much skill in reconstituting powders from packets and quick-polymerizing breads. It was,” she added in a tone that seemed a little subdued, “all we could get, most days.”

 

“And there is no shame in that, either,” he asserted. “Let no one tell you otherwise. Even if they happen to be a relation of mine.”

 

“It doesn’t matter,” she shook her head, pushing away old standoffish feelings that whispered to her that, in fact, it did. “I think I can manage to hold my tongue for another evening.”

 

\- - - -

 

Fortunate for her that she made that resolution aloud, Paha found herself thinking some time later. It made her the more likely to adhere to it.

 

It had all started out well enough. Sessali greeted them with a smile that seemed almost genuine in comparison to her prior efforts, but there was still an awkward feeling in the air, as though she had taken a vow that they would do this as a family, let hell and high water do as it would, and by the stars, they would all enjoy it, willing or no. Her rationale for the switch in tactics was dubious, based on the faulty reasoning that had preoccupied her all day: that somehow, she would find some way to revert the changes to her son so that she would not have to finally accept them. Anger and arguments had failed spectacularly; it was time to see what the motions, however empty, of affection and nostalgia could do. What before she had fearfully avoided, she now seemed to strive feverishly towards: interaction; to overcome the alienating rift, and with it, Vector’s choice to retain his Killik nature, through the sheer smothering force of kindness that, through the very strain of so strenuously evoking its existence, continually fell short of the mark.

 

Sessali fretted a bit over Paha’s jacket and skirt, concerned they would be stained, and Paha agreed to relinquish the first – along with the vibroblade it concealed – in her room, and at length consented to tying an apron over the second.

 

“Stars,” said Elsian, casting her eyes at the ceiling with an exaggerated expression of wonder, “if you didn’t bring enough clothes, whatever is that big suitcase of yours for anyway?”

 

Paha was looking down, tying the strings of the apron, and she hefted one shoulder with indifference as she dodged the question. “It’s just a skirt. If it gets dirty, I can wash it.”

 

Elsian, as Paha expected she would, took her reply as a commentary on the younger woman’s preference for fine clothes and crafted personal beauty. It wasn’t meant as one. It simply would not have occurred to Paha to make it one. Paha’s requirements for dress were very simple, and tended more towards how much protection they gave her, or how much they marked her as a servant of the Empire, and, moreover, had been almost entirely supplied by her employer until her move to shadow agent status. While she could appreciate a neat and tidy appearance, the luxury of fashion generally occupied an even lower rung on her priority ladder than fancy meals, unsurprisingly. Elsian sniffed disdainfully and raised her daintily pointed chin, preparing a retort.

 

Sessali inserted herself precipitously into the breach, almost literally as she stepped between the two younger women with a bowl in her hands.

 

“Legate!” she said, hastily cutting off whatever remark was poised to drop from Elsian’s lips. She set the bowl on the counter before Paha, who spied in the bottom about a half dozen large lavender eggs, speckled with a darker bluish-purple hue. “Do you mind separating the eggs and whipping the whites?”

 

Sessali turned away before Paha had a chance to answer, and grabbed Elsian’s arm to steer her to another corner of the kitchen and a different task. Paha looked at Vector with a nervous blankness.

 

“I have to what?” she asked beneath her breath, feeling already frustrated by an unreasonable sense of helplessness.

 

“We’ll show you,” he said, so quick to assist that she knew he had been expecting her to flounder. The discovery rankled, despite her knowing he did it out of love and concern for her, despite her own earlier admission of inexperience, and despite her willingness to bury her pride to give Vector the best chance at reconciliation with his family. She was annoyed mostly with herself, though: she had known her mission would place her in this house. Why hadn’t she had the foresight to think of studying this sooner? Why hadn’t she asked Toovee to brief her on the requisites for managing a household? Why had she not thought of how unprepared she would be? She felt like an inept fool.

 

This, naturally, did not especially help her follow Vector’s demonstration of transferring the contents of the egg back and forth between the two halves of the broken shell, expertly separating the yolk from the white, and she frowned as she fumbled with her own, hotly aware of the judging eyes of Elsian trained heavily upon her. She kept her gaze carefully averted, knowing Sessali, too, had noticed her difficulty; she didn’t want to encounter the look of disappointment she imagined Sessali must be giving her daughter-in-law. As she paused to pick a fragment of eggshell out of the bowl, Paha entertained a fantasy that maybe that had been the most difficult part; certainly something like whipping would only require brute force, right?

 

“Mm, not quite,” Vector whispered in her ear. “Whipping is a lighter, brisker motion. You don’t have to kill it.” He took the bowl from her hands to demonstrate. If she hadn’t been aware of so many other eyes on her, she would have appreciated, and even enjoyed the lesson. There was something about this creative process that had the surprising potential to be fun, but at this moment, Paha couldn’t prevent the painful color that flooded her cheeks, and from the look on Vector’s face, she knew he saw the hot flare of embarrassment that clanged noisily in her aura, an avalanche that buried her gratitude under rocks hewn of misery.

 

“I don't think I am cut out for fine cooking,” Paha mumbled. “Or any cooking at all, really.”

 

“You’ll get the hang of it,” Vector soothed, placing the bowl back in her uncertain hands and pointedly ignoring the askance glare that Elsian shot across the room at him. Shifting his stance to block his sister out completely, he dropped his lips close to Paha’s ear and murmured, “We have long known nothing can conquer you, beloved.”

 

Whether it was that Elsian overheard him in spite of his caution, or that she smarted at so clear an indication of exclusion, or that she saw Legate’s discomfort and vulnerability and decided, serpentlike, that the time was ripe to strike, or that she simply no longer could endure an audience that was not the recipient of her voice, she chose this moment to pipe up.

 

“ _I_ have a question,” she announced importantly. “Something I’ve been wondering, I should say, Miss Legate.” She waited a dramatic beat, and then inquired, “With eyes as nasty as those, how can you tell that he's ever actually looking _at_ you?”

 

Crest-fallen and pale, Vector was speechless at the acerbity of this attack; even Sessali had the grace to look utterly shocked, although whether it was the actual content of her daughter’s words or because she saw her airy castles of reconciliation falling down about her at its rudeness was a question that remained unresolved. Elsian’s intended target, however, had long experience in far worse speeches than this. Paha might flail at the concept of making meringue by hand, but that didn’t mean she would lie down before the impertinence of a gundark in a pageboy haircut.

 

“Oh, _I_ know,” Paha answered sweetly. “Just as he knows when I am rolling my eyes. Which, I admit, I usually reserve for those most deserving of ridicule. Or pity.”

 

Vector made a muffled noise, one he turned away quickly to cover with a cough. Elsian might be spoiled, and she certainly was selfish, but she wasn’t stupid: she knew exactly who was being held up as the target of ridicule and pity, and it was with difficulty that she choked down her spleen. For this inhuman creature, who so casually wore her brother’s shape, and this freakish blue woman with burning eyes to mock her, to patronize her – it was mortifying, but she lacked the self-awareness to see just how much she had earned it.

 

Sessali interposed again, sending each of the combatants to their respective corners with new distractions, and filled the air with meaningless chatter, as though the slightest chance of silence terrified her. That was fine with Paha, who deflected any personal or prying questions with answers of equal emptiness, and kept most of her attention on Vector, who was happy enough to taciturnly stay focused on the work at hand. Only Elsian seemed determined to pull the conversation in one preferred direction, and that direction went by the name of Anora.

 

“Seventeen times,” Paha groaned much later in the evening, running her hands through her short hair as though her scalp ached. “That's how many times she invoked Anora's name apropos of nothing.”

 

“A low-hanging fruit,” Vector observed, “easily grasped and easily consumed, and just as easily gone.”

 

“Doesn't make it any the less bitter,” Paha replied, taking up her holo and datapad before sitting on the foot of her bed.

 

“No, we imagine not,” he said quietly. From where he stood near the door, Paha looked tired and frustrated, with little pieces of nettles throwing her harmony of being all out of tune in a hundred tiny ways. It had only been a bit more than a week, but already Xaastu felt like so long ago, and all the peace they had shared there seemed as distant as the glittering stars. “You intend to work tonight?”

 

“I need to see if Three has a way of detecting the spiders yet. If he does, then tomorrow, we need to get into every bank, find them, and disable them. Or, at the very least, the detonators they are wired to.” She put her head to one side. “Rather puts petty sibling squabbles into some perspective, doesn't it?”

 

“Indeed,” Vector answered, slowly sitting down beside her. “Still, you have our thanks.”

 

“For not scolding your sister?”

 

“For not stabbing her,” he said, only half-joking.

 

“Couldn't. My vibroblade was in here all night.”

 

“Please. Our mother keeps a very well-stocked kitchen, and we know your powers of observation. You knew where every knife was stored within two minutes.”

 

“I'll have you know it was less than one, thank you,” Paha replied with a laugh that was freer than she expected it to be. “Your mother's kitchen is as well-organized as it is well-stocked.”

 

Her laughter struck a dearly missed chord to his ear, and he softly laid both arms around her, pulling her against him and placing his lips gently against her temple. He took a breath, inhaling her fragrance, and sensing the odd way its easy closeness mixed with the much older recognition of the scents of his long-lost home, creating an entirely new odor to his senses, a potpourri both foreign and familiar to him, and for a while, they simply sat in silence, shutting out all the stress of the world beyond this small room.

 

“We had better go,” Vector broke the quiet after some time. “We have a curfew imposed upon us after all. And you need time for your call, and to still get a decent night's sleep.”

 

He slipped away from her, and she instantly missed his warmth. But he was right, and he was only complying with her own requests. A kiss, a smile, a good-night, and he had left, and Paha was alone with a large cold bed, a holocommunicator, and her work.

 

“Good timing,” Watcher Three said, after she had made contact. “We were able to understand quite a bit about his program from the first spider.”

 

“Can you track them?” Paha asked. “Scan for them?”

 

“The spiders, no, not directly,” Three admitted. “But we _can_ scan for the tech he's using in his explosives. I'm sending you the details now.”

 

“Good. Any word on what his program is designed to do?”

 

“We're still working on that,” Three said with a frown. “We thought he would be observing specific accounts, but he isn't. He's observing _all_ of them. Every transaction, in or out.”

 

“That is a colossal amount of data,” Paha answered, surprised. “He has to be looking for something, do you think?”

 

“Maybe. But what that is, we don't know. We just don't have enough information yet. Find his other spiders, Agent, and get spikes installed,” Three ordered. “That keycard you swiped?  We've sliced it to be recognized by the other financials.  You should have total access to their buildings.  Once we have all the data, maybe then we can begin to see the picture in it."

 

“Understood,” Paha began to say when a loud knock on her door made her jump. “I have to go.”

 

“Another time,” Three nodded, and severed the link. Paha swept the datapad under her pillow, but left the holo innocuously on the bedspread, and, crossing the room in three steps, opened the door.

 

“Elsian,” she said with an insincere smile. “To what do I owe the pleasure at this time of night?”

 

“This time of night, _indeed,”_ Elsian snipped venomously. “What about _you_? I heard voices. You, and a male voice, one that wasn't Vector. He's in his room; I could hear him humming some weird song.”

 

“And you want to know who I'm talking to. Right,” Paha answered evenly. For one as inflated with self-importance as the melodramatic Elsian, there could be nothing so galling as being treated with detached indifference, and she made sure to keep an expression of supreme boredom glue to her features. “Disappointment is a difficult thing to master, but I'm sure you'll get the hang of it eventually. Good night, Elsian.”

 

Elsian tossed her head scornfully. “If you don't tell me, I'll tell Vector what you're doing behind his back.”

 

“Ah.” Paha folded her arms and leaned her shoulder against the doorjamb. “Elsian, if you want me to believe that you suddenly care about your brother's happiness after two days of showing how much you clearly don't, you'll have to do _much_ better than that.”

 

“What's that supposed to mean?”

 

“It means: go tell him whatever you want.”

 

Five minutes later, as Paha settled her head on her pillow and drew the blankets up to her chest, a brief smile flickered over her lips as she remembered shutting the door on Elsian's shocked and dismayed face.  A minor skirmish, but still a win.  Even small victories counted.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Meant to post this yesterday, but I ended up to wrapped up in prepping material for a DnD campaign I'm running to finish the final edits. Oops!


	23. Fighting a War on Two Fronts

The following day was much a sister to the previous: armed with a sliced all-access keycard, an assortment of data spikes, Watcher Three’s scanning program, and their cover identities, Paha and Vector made their way through each of the banks in downtown Djircelle in turn, painstakingly tracking down each of the spiders and disarming the associated explosives they were wired to.

 

“That’s the last of them,” Paha said with relief, checking the uplink to her datapad as she stretched her aching neck. With a wince and a small sigh, she tried to force herself to relax against the painful twinges of Vector’s strong fingers as he worked them into her strained shoulder muscles.

 

“If we had the time,” she avowed, “I would demand you take me somewhere to continue that activity for at _least_ an hour.”

 

“You’ve had your head bent over for much longer than that,” Vector observed. “It would be the least we could do. And,” he added, a flirtatious tone creeping into his voice, “we are prepared to do a good deal more. If we had the time.” The playfulness faded into a short and frustrated sigh, and he took Paha’s hand to raise her to her feet. “Which we do not.”

 

“Not even for those legendary Tionese noodles?” Paha inquired hopefully.

 

“Doubtful. Mother has another group meal preparation planned for us all. She has her heart set on it.”

 

“I can see why. It went so well yesterday,” Paha said with a wry wrinkle of her lips.

 

“Our metric is whether or not blood was spilled, so by that measure, it wasn’t really all that bad,” Vector said.

 

“Optimistic as ever,” she smiled back at him. They slipped out the door that divided the server rooms from the remainder of the Talonstone Galactic Fiduciary Partners building and wove their way down corridors and lifts to the ground floor, where a droid crew, as identically non-descript as every other, was busily polishing windows and floors and chromed fixtures. Their homeward stroll was casual and pleasant in the warm air of the late afternoon. The sun gleamed across the waters behind them; its light bounced gaily off the gleaming buildings only to be stopped short by their backs and shoulders, and barred from landing on the Jurio ground at the last half meter after crossing thousands of kilometers of space from the point of origin.

 

Sessali had clearly downwardly adjusted her estimate of her daughter-in-law for this evening’s meal, and Paha’s heart gave an inward leap of hope as she saw a pile of vegetables, a cutting board, and a knife.

 

Her buoyancy soon sank again, as Elsian's veiled derision made it clear what she thought of someone who didn't automatically know the difference between sliced, chopped, diced, minced, and julienned. Paha pasted a politely attentive look on her features and pretended she gave half a Hutt's damn about the nuances of the brunoise cut versus the macedoine. She wasn't sorry, either, for Adronik's usual monopolization of the evening conversation; she had found that on those occasions when she had no interest in speaking, the best thing to do was to find someone who had no interest in being silent. Every one would then get what they wanted.

 

She left enough of one ear in the general conversation to be able to respond if she were called upon to do so – always nebulously, with insufficient detail to provide any real concept of her own opinions or personal experiences – and devoted most of her attention to the more pressing problem of The Fund. Off in her room, on the other side of the house, a stack of datapads was busily downloading a deluge of account information from the banks via the spikes she had superinstalled over The Fund's spiders, and it was all just sitting there, waiting for her, so close but just out of reach. The evening seemed to stretch endlessly, and she hardly noticed Sessali's improved but still awkward efforts at drawing out Vector's humanity, and she didn't notice Elsian at all, much to the girl's extreme annoyance. She only hoped that her eagerness to retreat to her room and her work wasn't obvious.

 

“Only to us,” Vector told her later, with a little chiding smile. He seated himself on the foot of the bed, while she sat cross-legged beside the pillows, datapads arrayed across the duvet in a fan of technology.

 

“Then I won't need to make apologies to anyone but you,” she replied somewhat absently as she began scrolling through the lines of accounts. She raised her head, a smirk tugging her lips. “And I'll save the apology for when I can take my time about it.”

 

“Even better,” answered Vector, his smile flaring briefly and fading as he took up the closest datapad. “What should we be searching for?”

 

“Honestly? I'm not sure,” Paha admitted. “But if we start with those accounts that were found via the old Eagle tap, maybe something will shake loose. Cross-reference the Eagle tap accounts with the bank account registries and let's see who these belong to.”

 

“Here's one,” Vector said a few minutes later. “The account owner is... a Mr. Amosyon Nenimus.”

 

“And another,” Paha added. “Allerel Nonnam Mouze. Ugh.”

 

“What is it?” Vector inquired curiously.

 

“I'm getting a glimpse of a pattern here, but the third may confirm it.”

 

“The third is... Yuun Ohwn.”

 

Paha pressed her fingertips to her brow and sighed. “When we finally track this guy down, he's getting an extra poke in the eye for horrible pseudonyms. He deserves it.”

 

Puzzled, Vector looked again at the names, and after a moment, made a short noise of annoyance. “Anonymous,” he said, “and Unknown. Ugh, indeed. He's laughing at us – not specifically, but generally. Anyone who might discover his plot.”

 

“It's the first time he's been careless. Or cocky,” Paha mused. “Interesting.”

 

“Is he being only pointlessly clever, though?” Vector wondered. “Or is there another layer? To distract us with looking into accounts with silly names while letting a more critical account pass us by?”

 

“No way to know until we dig deeper,” she shrugged. “We can at least start by pulling the full details on these accounts.”

 

For a long time, all conversation was at an end as every detail of every transaction of the flagged accounts was examined and scrutinized for any possible hint or clue. The faintest of patterns began to reveal itself in the order, amounts, and dates of deposits, and, running down the hunch eventually led to several similar accounts.

 

“And every one,” Paha surveyed them with satisfaction, “fits with that _Unknown_ or _Anonymous_ joke he's throwing around.”

 

“Not this one?” Vector pointed out, passing the datapad across to Paha's glance.

 

“It does if you are using Huttese.”

 

Vector made a face before returning to the boundless maze of financial data. “We will let you have first crack at him, but when you are done, we wouldn't mind ourselves giving The Fund a poke in whichever eye you have left him.”

 

“Noted,” Paha nodded easily, bowing her head to resume the search. It was nearly another hour before either stirred again, when the silence was broken by Vector's observing, “Here's another, but we can't figure any language where the translation would be appropriate. What can you make of it?”

 

She took the datapad from his outstretched hand, and she flexed her strained shoulders and the aching muscles in her neck, arching the tension out of her back, which had rather an appealing effect regarding the tension of her shirt across her front.

 

“Not a thing,” Paha admitted, startling Vector out of a reverie he had hardly been aware he had slipped into. She didn't seem to have noticed; she was busy wiping the exhaustion from her eyes.

 

“We suggest shelving this for the night, then,” he advised. “Pass it to Three along with our other discoveries. He might have insight, along with his analysis of The Fund's programming on the spiders. We are both too tired to do much else good tonight.”

 

“And tomorrow is another day,” Paha agreed with a sigh. “There's not much else we can do until we learn what Three has discovered – so I suppose it's just as well it's planned for us already.” Earlier that evening, Sessali had announced her intention to take the next day out of work, to spend the time together as a family, she felt, should. On the one hand, her nascent desire to spend time with her son and new daughter could be an encouraging sign, but aside from its hampering the movements of their investigation, Paha privately worried that this would become yet another attempt to sway Vector aside from his decision and acceptance of himself. Likely, Vector worried the same. But they couldn't refuse without being rude, and Paha girded herself for the prospect of all the fresh ways she would prove herself a lackluster initiate to this efficient group.

 

A noise at the door preempted any reply.

 

“Elsian,” Vector said, turning his head as though ashamed of the grim frown that creased his lips.

 

“This is starting to become a custom,” Paha replied, rising on stiff legs. “These little evening chats of hers.”

 

“Goodness!” was Elsian's exclamation when Paha opened the door. “What a lot of datapads! Shut up here alone together and this is all you could think to do? What are you planning, anyway?”

 

“A bank robbery,” Paha replied smoothly.

 

Elsian tittered. “Oh, _indeed_. Which bank, may I ask?”

 

“All of them.” Paha didn't miss a beat.

 

“Fine, fine, if you don't want to tell me,” Elsian said loftily, tossing her head with a simpering sneer. “But I'm sure Mamma would be interested that Vector is here, this late, and not where he belongs.”

 

“You're perfectly right, I don't want to tell you, nor is it up to you to decide that that is _fine_ ,” said Paha shortly. “However, I am a little hazy on where it is you think Vector belongs, if not with his wife. Care to expound on that?”

 

Elsian pressed her pretty lips together, thinning them to a harsh, flat line, clearly not about to answer the question and preparing her next volley. “I was wondering: If what Vector does is shared with his brother bugs, and everything they do is shared with him, does that mean that every time one gets frisky, he feels it? You know, a _ll_ of it?” she added in a significant tone. “And doesn't that mean he's cheating on you?”

 

It infuriated her to show it, but Paha knew she could not wholly keep faint spots of purple from tinting her cheeks, and Elsian preened, knowing that at long last she had landed a blow in a vulnerable spot. Undaunted, Paha opened her mouth to fire back a retort, but was forestalled by something far darker than her sister-in-law's mere rudeness.

 

“Elsian.” Vector's voice wasn't loud; it was, in fact, softer than usual, but it held a note of warning and danger that Elsian would have to be a blithering idiot to miss – and Paha knew full well that Elsian was sharper than she tended to portray herself. Paha's cheeks had flushed a moment ago; Elsian's now paled as she saw the implacable cold anger on her brother's face. It frightened her at the same time it reinforced her preconceived notions: no human face would wear such a look of animal fury. But she wasn't the type to allow herself to be intimidated for long.

 

Tossing her hair back from her face with a quick movement, she said, “Never came up for discussion before, I see. Well, I'll leave you to it, then.”

 

She flounced off to her room, and Vector held still and stiff as Paha crossed to him.

 

“It's never come up for discussion,” she said mildly, “because I don't care. Part of that whole sharing conversation we had back then. Don't let her get to you.”

 

“We don't. But it bothered us that she got to _you_.”

 

“My fault; she caught me by surprise. I should have seen it coming,” Paha shrugged. “She's not as subtle as Hunter was.”

 

“We're sorry.”

 

“It's not your place to be sorry,” she answered gently, laying a cool blue hand against his heated face. “Because it isn't your fault, and I fail to see how it could be.”

 

“True. But we can still say it. And mean it.” Vector reached up to lift her fingers from his jaw, caging them within a knot of his own. Without another word, he bent his head to hers, tangling their lips as he had their fingers, and for a long and dizzy moment, she let herself forget Elsian and The Fund and the plots and schemes of each and tumbled blissfully into the feeling of her husband kissing her. It wasn't for several minutes that she realized his hands had released hers in order to wander over other physical features that were rounder, softer, and decidedly warmer.

 

“Mm,” she made a little pleasurable noise, and, without sounding as though she particularly cared about the answer, asked breathlessly, “And what do you think you are doing?”

 

“Us?” Vector asked innocently, pulling back slightly. All the anger that had been churning in the abyss of his eyes was gone, replaced with a look that spoke unmistakably of mischief. “Bidding our wife goodnight, of course.”

 

He gave her one last swift peck on the cheek, with a knowing half-smirk that was all the more impish for his ability to see _exactly_ what his effect on her had been – the eager flush that pulsed in her aura, the rush of hot desire and the torment of a self-imposed restraint – and at the door, he added with smug politeness, “Good night, beloved.”

 

Wide-awake with a gnawing empty hunger devouring her from the inside out, Paha lay still under the covers, staring at the ceiling, and silently cursed herself for her idiotic scruples, and, for good measure, cursed Vector for being so damnably respectful of them.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is mostly expositiony stuff and setup for the next few chapters; this sort of chapter always seems to give me a bit of trouble, and usually requires lots of revisions - still without ever leaving me _really_ satisfied with them. 
> 
> The only other note I have for the chapter is just a nod to the Agatha Christie, that sublime author of mystery - those familiar with her works will recognize the pseudonym trick from _And Then There Were None/Ten Little Indians_ (whichever name you prefer, or whether you are reading the novel or seeing the play based on it), in which ten strangers are invited to an island mansion for a weekend party. All invitations are signed by "U. N. Owen" or "Una Owen" or some other variation on "unknown." Naturally, it being Agatha Christie, corpses soon begin to outnumber the living - but I won't spoil the ending!


	24. A Time of Confidences

Paha paused, hung on her indecision. At least, she told herself it was indecision; that was an easier thing to face than the admission, even to just herself, that a more proper term for it was dread. To her left, she could hear Vector, in the study with Adronik, their voices even and companionable to the point of ease as they chatted over some bits of cultural curiosities, comparing impressions and changes to planets visited and sights seen in the decade or two since Adronik had beheld them for himself. It sounded so beautifully _normal_. So comfortable. Homey. Paha was reluctant to interrupt; this was something Vector's heart had been straining towards since long before he had returned to Jurio.

 

But letting Vector and Adronik continue their conference without her presence meant that her second option – short of hiding in her room – was to enter the kitchen where Sessali and Elsian had just begun preparations for another one of Sessali's somewhat grandiose meals. She tried to look for a hopeful shine to it – perhaps, without Vector, there would be less tension; perhaps there would be some sort of sudden female bond that sprang up between them. Didn't that sort of thing happen? Spontaneous sisterhood? Wasn't that how these things were supposed to go?

 

Sitting idle when there was work to be done wasn't in her nature, but she was torn as to which prospect was worse: her in-laws thinking her aloof and stuck-up if she didn't offer to help, or her in-laws thinking her incompetent because she was so monumentally bad at it. So many of the benchmarks of their regard seemed to be rooted in the sorts of domestic details that had only had a place in Paha's long-lost childhood. With a silent wish to the stars to acquit her of her patent reputation for ignorance, she dredged up her courage and entered.

 

“Shall I help?” Paha inquired, bravely confronting the two faces that looked up as she came in – one skeptical, one scornful.

 

“Here,” Elsian snipped ungraciously, brusquely shoving a large bowl of some sort of vegetable or other at Paha. “The poulas need de-threading. Best to do it outside, so you can just throw the husks aside without making a mess in here.”

 

A child, even one of the sheltered and mollycoddled padawan darlings of a backwater Jedi temple, could have read between the lines on that one: _clearly, you can't be trusted with anything requiring even the barest skill, so here is a task you can't ruin – now get out from underfoot and do it._

 

Flushing with chagrin, and feeling probably the meekest she had ever done in her life, Paha nonetheless held up her head, silently took the bowl and strode out the back door and down the three steps to the yard, fiercely resisting an urge to scuttle.

 

She sat down on a bench at the back of the vegetable garden, screened from the kitchen windows by the tall vines tied up on stakes, and picked up the first of the curious podlike vegetables. The peels, she found, came off easily enough, revealing dozens of firm segments of juicy light green flesh, but left behind was a tassel of threads leading to as many tiny seeds peppered throughout the fruit's pale sections. Painstakingly, she began to pull off each sticky thread, one by one, tossing them on the ground with the peels and wishing rather mulishly that she were throwing each one in Elsian's smug face.

 

There had to be a better way to do this, Paha mused, contemplating the second pod. Surely, there was a trick to it, she just needed to figure it out – without again demonstrating her utter ineptitude at all things mundane by once more asking for help. Her second attempt went only marginally better than the first, and at this rate, dinner would be ready, eaten, and digested before she ever got through the pile. She hadn't even tasted one yet, and already she loathed them.

 

Paha set her teeth as she picked up the third poula. She could field strip a rifle and reassemble it blindfolded and upside-down with her hands shackled – not that she had ever tried, but nothing about that sounded even remotely difficult. She could shoot the rank cylinders off a Moff at a kilometer and a half with a cross breeze. She could kill an enemy silently, neatly, noisily, or messily; she could infiltrate terrorist groups and dismantle secret societies and take down a Sith lord on the best day of his week and the worst day of hers, so be damned to being defeated by a bloody pile of vegetables!

 

“De-thread the poulas,” she muttered rebelliously under her breath. “Even _you_ can't screw that up, no, _indeed_.”

 

“Elsy must have given you that task.” A voice interrupted her so suddenly that she jumped, guilty that her _sotto voce_ diatribe had been overheard.

 

Adronik, far from looking condemning, instead looked knowing and amused. _Great._ She was a source of mockery to her father-in-law now, too. Paha refrained from sighing, but did her best to look pleasant and answered only, “Yes, she did.”

 

“Ever since she was a little girl, she always hated de-threading the poulas,” Adronik smiled fondly. He hooked his cane over the arm of the bench and lowered himself slowly onto the wooden seat. “She used to do everything she could to get out of it. Traded the job with Vector. Bribed him to do it. She once thought if she did a bad enough job, Sess wouldn't ask her to do it again.”

 

“I don't know your wife well enough yet, sir,” Paha admitted, feeling her spirits rise a bit at this unexpected image of a miniature defiant Elsian getting her comeuppance, “but I would guess that that last one didn't work.”

 

“Not at all; it ensured that she had the job every time until she could prove she could do it right. Sess told her that obviously, she needed the practice.” Adronik chuckled. “I can also guess she didn't show you the secret to doing it quickly.”

 

“I knew there had to be one. But I haven't figured it out yet.” Something about Adronik's confiding affability soothed her edgy nerves, putting her enough at ease that she felt comfortable with grinning at him. “Check back around breakfast time tomorrow; I might have it by then.”

 

As she hoped and expected, Adronik returned her smile, and reached down into the bowl between them.

 

“Like anything, once you know how, it's easy. Give it a squeeze, all the way around, before peeling it. It releases a juice from the peel that loosens the threads. If you do it right...” He paused, turning the fruit over in his hand for a moment, then grabbed the tassel in a bunch and gave a gentle tug. “...you can pull out all the threads at once, cleanly.”

 

He set about peeling the skin from the segments. "Just don't tell Elsy I told you the secret. It will drive her nuts if she thinks you got it on your own.”

 

“My lips are sealed,” Paha promised solemnly, muffling a conspiratorial cackle as she grabbed the next one to try her hand at it.

 

“They are that, I've noticed,” observed Adronik neutrally. "You don't share much about yourself.” He let the observation hang in the air.

 

“Well...” Paha hedged, “honestly, there really isn't that much to tell.”

 

“I don't believe that for a minute,” Adronik shook his head, reaching for another poula. “If you think there isn't much to tell, then you think you aren't interesting. And Vector would never agree to spend his life with someone who wasn't interesting. I know my son better than that.”

 

Paha focused very minutely on a poula peel for a moment. “If you don't mind my saying so, sir,” she observed, “you seem a lot more accepting of... Vector. And me. Our... situation. Compared to your wife and Elsian.”

 

“That's probably because I have seen a lot more than they have. Out in the galaxy, fighting for the Empire. I met all types. The sorts that were often dismissed. You know, Zabraks and Togrutas and the like, hey? Even a few of your kind. Not many, but one or two. Opens your eyes, it does, to see other cultures working for your same cause. Even when that cause does its best to grind them under its heel. Demands nothing but the best, always, and even that isn't good enough if it's from an alien. On the official level, that is. On the private – well, if only the best is demanded of an alien, and anything passes from a human, then who is to say that an alien isn't the better of a human after all? It makes a man think.” He bobbed an eyebrow at her. “Or a woman, for that matter.”

 

Paha mulled that over. “And Vector? You don't pressure him. About... ”

 

“Years ago, when Vector was just a boy, I was away, often. Military obligations, you understand, hey?" Adronik waved a hand. "But when I could come home, when I could see my son, I saw he wasn't quite like the other children of so many of my comrades – including Elsian, for that matter. They all wanted to hear about battles and action and what ships blew up what other ships and all that stuff that children confuse with adventure and heroics. But not Vector.”

 

Paha's hands stilled as the poulas offered her something quite unexpected: a way to spin out time while Adronik talked about Vector. About what he had been like as a child. What he had been like as a human. The chore now didn't seem to be so onerous.

 

“He wanted to hear about who I had met, what aliens I served with, or fought against; what foods did I try, what historical sites did I see and did they survive the fighting,” Adronik continued. “I brought him trinkets and such from other planets and other cultures and he was so eager to find out all he could about them that at one point I looked at him and said to myself, 'This boy is destined for something other than military life.' And here, on Jurio, away from all the battles, you could almost think that someone like Vector could be one of the founders of the new guard – a new way of the Empire, one not based in all this war and conquest and Sith infighting, hey? I've seen a damn lot of friends – good friends, humans and aliens – fall to these things, and after a time, you have to ask: are we any the better off for it all?”

 

Adronik shrugged. “But I'm no Moff, I don't get to see the big picture like they do. Just a humble soldier, who can look at his son and hope that the war teeth will spare him. And maybe, just maybe, this Killik thing is part of that. I don't know how the universe works. Took me a while, but I learned not to question it.”

 

He tossed a peeled poula back into the bowl and plucked out another. “We still do hear things, even way out here. Some big damn treaty, between the Empire and the Killiks, and even just at the hint, I thought Vector might have something to do with it.”

 

“A little.” Paha's lips curled in a fond smile. “He single-handedly conceived the plan, brokered support for it, and negotiated the treaty.”

 

“Did he now?” Adronik's tanned and weathered face creased into a broad grin, expansive with pride. “I would say I wasn't far off on my gauge of my own son then. But it's different for Sess and Elsy. Every parent has wishes, or visions, for their children. Toughest thing for a parent to do is let 'em go, and step back when it's time to. You probably don't understand what I mean, but you might, someday. I was away so often when Vector and Elsy were children; we weren't often together as a family. When we were, Vector was almost grown up, and Sess wanted so much, and tried so hard, to have us all together as a family, for just a little longer. I don't blame her for it, but it made letting go tough for her, and Vector is the eldest, after all."

 

“I see,” Paha murmured slowly, discovering a deeper sympathy for Sessali than she previously had entertained. She had not been so coarse as to feel that Sessali didn't have cause for finding the situation difficult, but she had been guilty of feeling exasperated and frustrated with Sessali's unwillingness to come to terms with it. And who was she to decree what Sessali should or should not just get over? Wouldn't she herself – hadn't she herself, she mentally corrected – been once terrified of this same event? That if Vector reverted to full human, he would no longer be the man she knew and loved? He would no longer be the man that knew and loved her in return? For her, it had only been a fear. For Sessali, it was a reality. Purely from the standpoint of being a fellow woman who also loved Vector, her mother-in-law deserved more compassion than she had harbored in her heart.

 

“They'll work it out. As will you,” Adronik opined confidently. He looked down at the bowl of juicy green poulas, each one peeled clean, and dropped in the one he held in his hand. “And that's the last of them.” He took his cane in hand and was preparing to rise when he paused abruptly, giving the woman he knew as Legate a bemused look.

 

“Here I came to hear something about you, but took all the conversation for myself again. Something about that feels like it was deliberate, hey?” he said, but the accusation was pleasantly spoken.

 

“Maybe, maybe not,” Paha answered with a sly smile tugging at the edge of her lip. Of all her new family, Adronik was the one she felt most comfortable with, and she found she had developed a genuine affection for her father-in-law, partially founded, additionally, on his easygoing acceptance of his son's decisions.

 

Standing now before her, with that erectness of being that marked him as a former soldier, he shot a direct question at her.

 

“If you're still part of Intelligence, are you here for a mission?”

 

“I can't say,” she answered honestly.

 

“I think I can take that to mean a yes.” There was a slight twinkle of amusement, or excitement, in his eye.

 

“I can't say,” she repeated. She couldn't hold back an roguish smile. “Or I could, but then I'd have to kill you.”

 

Adronik laughed. “I understand. Still, I find I might have an inclination to dig out the old service blaster. No reason, just to give it a proper cleaning, hey? You bring back memories of my military days.”

 

“Always wise to keep it in good maintenance, of course, sir,” Paha answered neutrally, tossing the last of the poula peels into a pile of composting leaves nearby. “Even if it isn't likely to be used.”

 

“Of course,” the older man agreed. He nodded to the bowl. “Best get those in to Elsy. I'd like to see the look on her face when she sees them this clean this quickly – but I'd only give the secret away.”

 

Paha's eyes followed him as, chuckling to himself, Adronik wove away between the plantings and raised beds. Yes, she thought again, she liked her father-in-law very much. Despite all his years of absence during Vector's childhood, it was Adronik who held it together, almost effortlessly, it seemed. If this family had a future, it was Adronik who would be its linchpin.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. "A Time of Confidences" is a line from Simon and Garfunkel's song, "Old Friends."
> 
> 2\. I had this chapter, and the next two(ish) that will follow it, mostly written months ago - probably about the same time I was writing the chapters where they leave Xaastu and stop at Tatooine. There were certain scenes that I knew I wanted to include from the beginning, so the next chapters should be posted fairly quickly, after I give them a couple read-throughs and some polishing. This will hopefully make up a little for the week+ it took me to get the last chapter up. My partial excuse is that I was away for the weekend to march in a St. Patrick's Day parade. Dressed like a pirate. Because nothing says "Irish" like a bunch of violent, thieving seafaring folk, I guess? Whatever, it was lots of fun, and we sang sea shanties in the lobby of the hotel. Whee!
> 
> 3\. I made up poulas. Something like a very firm green tomato, with tassels like corn and a peel like a orange. Don't ask me what it tastes like; I haven't a clue.


	25. Shaken and Stirred

Paha brushed her hands together with a determined motion as she stood, and crossed the garden with the bowl cradled between the crook of her elbow and her ribs. Her foot was on the step when she was arrested suddenly as her attention caught the words of a conversation floating out the open kitchen window to where she stood unseen below it.

 

“...that's career military. But I imagine she'll move to a desk job? For the sake of the children?”

 

There was a brief pause. “What children, Mother?” Vector's voice was cautious, not curious. Paha froze, vaguely ashamed of eavesdropping, but to move away risked making noise– She cut off the thought; she at least had the self-awareness to ackowledge that it was an excuse so inadequate as to be an outright lie, and that her own inquisitive nature was what prompted her to stay put.

 

“Yours, of course. That you'll have.”

 

A second pause, somehow more uncomfortable than the first. Vector's reply, certainly, was in tones growing more wary by the word. “We... have not discussed it.”

 

“Well, you should!  If there are two, they can be friends, like you and your sister were, growing up.” Sessali seemed utterly immune to the painful idea that however close Vector and Elsian had been, they were decidedly distant now.

 

“Mother.” Vector sounded hesitant, and wearily patient. “It isn't for you to... that is – we are sorry to say –” Sessali must have given him an exasperated look, for in a rush he said, “There will not be any children.”

 

Paha, too stunned to do anything but listen, could hear him take a breath, the sort he took before offering a carefully-worded position or explanation, but his mother cut him off with a terse and practical, “Whyever not? Too devoted to her career? Motherhood isn't exciting enough? Or is this some... blue Chiss thing?”

 

There was no mistaking the pain in Vector's reply, quiet and wounded. “No, Mother. It has nothing to do with her. It is _we_ who are not capable. We have been thoroughly examined by physicians. It is not possible for us to – oh Mother... Please don't...”

 

The sound of sniffle, a small womanly sob, came next, and then words, broken by tears. “No – This is – It's those _bugs_ and what – what they did to you - And you – won't even _try_ – ”

 

The clattering of a pot or pan, moved abruptly, struck Paha's ear harshly, followed by sudden footsteps, fading quickly, and Vector's anxious call in pursuit: “Mother – wait –”

 

Silence fell, and yet Paha remained stock still with a hand clapped to her face, in the midst of her half-completed ascent of the stoop stairs and hardly knowing which way to turn, breathing hard with her heart pounding in her ears. He had never said a thing. But then, nor had she. It was as if neither one of them had ever given it a moment's thought – although, from his own words, it seemed that he, in fact, had. How long had he known? Paha's eyes flicked uncertainly over the innocent and commonplace features of the step, the railing, the tidy trimmed grasses that gave way to the garden plots, the ordinary chirping of some quizzical bird nearby, and wondered if she should go in to Vector, or flee to the other side of the yard and pretend that she had never heard a word. Even though, she told herself, Vector would know in two heartbeats that she was lying.

 

Something new snagged her ear – footsteps again, lighter, more urgent. “Vector!” Elsian, her voice angry and sharp and jealously offended. “What did you do to Mamma? She's crying! In her room! What did you do? What did you say to my mother?”

 

Paha could imagine the look Vector was bestowing upon his sister. “She is our mother, too.” The anguish in his voice was so palpable that Paha dug her teeth into the meat of her palm to keep sympathetic tears at bay.

 

“No, she isn't,” Elsian flared hotly. “Not when you talk like that, all this 'we' and 'our' and nonsense! Not when you're like... _that_! Is this what you came here for? To upset her? To ruin everything?” There was a heated silence, and then Elsian went for the jugular. “I wish you had never come back. Then I could have just kept on mourning you as if you were dead. Because that's all you'll ever be to _me_.”

 

Paha wasn't ever sure how long she stood trapped on the stoop, not daring to enter and yet fearing to leave, nor could she have been able to guess how long she would have stayed paralyzed in that pose had Vector not opened the door. He looked down at her, and she stared back, gray-faced and wide-eyed, one hand still clasped across her mouth and her aura shot through with shock and sorrow.

 

“You heard that,” he observed, his voice more even than she could trust hers to be. It wasn't a question, but she nodded slowly anyway.

 

“Let us take that,” he said next, lifting the bowl from her unresistant hands. He disappeared into the house but returned before Paha had finished mounting the stairs.

 

“We should talk,” he said quietly, taking her hand. “And we... could use some fresh air.”

 

\- - - -

 

Paha wrapped her fingers tightly around his and swiftly fell into step beside him, willing to go wherever he felt the need to wander, no matter how far. His face was calm – too calm, Paha realized; his grip around hers and his rapid steps belied the composure of his exterior demeanor, and she lengthened her stride to keep up. It was several minutes before he began to slow, roughly the same time their path crossed the rustic stone wall surrounding a large park with clusters of large, leafy trees that trailed long stems swathed in beautiful drooping flowers of greenish white. The flowers emitted a rather unpleasant odor; to Paha's nose, there was a sickly sweetness to it, and something the smelled like death, but perhaps that was her own morbid fancy, as the noxious perfume didn't seem to bother Vector. He led them along the twisting paths with no obvious plan or destination, but when he turned and sat decisively on a bench near a narrow, burbling stream, Paha sensed he was ready to talk at last.

 

Ready, perhaps, but needing help to begin. She raised a soft and hesitant hand to lay it tenderly along his far cheek, gently turning his face so that she could look into his eyes and see all the aching grief and sick misery that chafed there. Two burdensome things, each equally heavy and each equally personal to Vector; which to address first?

 

“I'm sure she didn't mean it,” Paha said soothingly, opting for the one that concerned herself less directly.

 

Vector pressed his lips together into a thin, tight line. “We saw her aura. We're quite sure she did.”

 

“In the heat of the moment –”

 

“– a person is apt to be at their most honest,” he finished bitterly. “To say what they really mean, unhindered by the trappings of politeness.”

 

“If you really believed that, you wouldn't be as good a diplomat as you are. Would you refuse your sister the understanding you allow everyone else?”

 

Vector mulled that over for a moment. “No,” he sighed, “but we could hope that _she_ herself would show a little more forbearance.”

 

“She hasn't had your experiences. She's not a diplomat. She's hardly even been off this world, let alone out of this sector.”

 

“So because _she_ is less forgiving or understanding, we must be _more_ so?”

 

“Maybe.”

 

“We weren't aware we hadn't been either understanding or forgiving. We have overlooked a great deal from Elsian. A very great deal.”

 

“I know you have.”

 

“Insults of the most personal nature. Rudeness almost unpardonable. We knew she still nursed her anger. We didn't know how deep it ran. Towards us, we understand. Towards you, we find it outrageous.”

 

“I can take it.”

 

“That's not the point,” Vector objected. “The point is that you shouldn't _have_ to. That we should have addressed this from the start, to... shield you from it. Or if not that, then to have prevented situations where that shield would be wanted.”

 

“I haven't wanted shielding,” she answered simply. “I could have spoken up. But I thought it would make matters worse.”

 

“It might have,” he conceded. “We don't remember Elsian as being so rooted in the mud of contrariness. She seems determined to test the limits of our forgiveness.”

 

“Perhaps it's less about forgiveness than it is making allowances for her ignorance. If you want to have a relationship with her.”

 

“We do, but it's a two-way street. She doesn't seem to want to have a relationship with _us_.”

 

Paha took a breath. “There's not a whole lot I can help with on that,” she confessed. “Other than to hope she comes around. Jurio is so safe; she doesn't know what it's like out there. In the war, on the front lines, in the middle of the danger and the politics and the Sith and the Jedi and the conspiracies. She doesn't know how fleeting life is. How the stupidest little errors can change it or end it forever. If she did, she might have a bit more appreciation for what she has, and be less quick to throw it away.”

 

“Perhaps you could tell her so.”

 

“Mmm.” Paha's response indicated her dubiousness of that plan. “I'm not sure she thinks enough of me to interpret what I might say to her as anything but the meddling of an outsider. An _alien_ outsider. She'll probably never forgive me for the grievous error of not being Anora.”

 

“Good point.” Vector put his head a little to one side. “So, in your opinion, what should we do?”

 

“Give her time. Space. Let her know that if she wants to talk – or apologize for being a spoiled brat – you'll listen, but you won't force it on her. And hope that she has enough sense to pull her head out of her ass.” Paha tightened her hand around his. “It's a big adjustment for her – for all of them. While you were away, they could remember you as they wanted. They could put your memory on whatever mental pedestal they chose to construct. But your return has knocked all of those little shrines over, and they don't know what to do about it.”

 

Vector looked down at her a few moments, considering. “You are being very understanding. Considering how Elsian hasn't exactly made you feel welcome, we're a little surprised.”

 

“I'm not completely un-empathetic!” Paha exclaimed, with mock indignation. The flicker of her smile vanished almost immediately. “But... for me, it's much less about them and much more about you. It always will be. You've got something here that I don't, and never had, and I don't want to see you lose it. It's a precious commodity, a family. Mother, father, sister...”

 

“Children?” Vector's voice was quiet and tight; Paha's heart contracted at the sound. A soft breeze rustled the leaves of the trees, wafting the sweet-death odor of the blooms over them, mingling with the hot metal smell of the nerves that hummed anxiously through Paha's aura and the salt-sorrow scent that churned nauseatingly within his own. For several minutes neither one of them had anything to say.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have had lots of thoughts as to what I would include in notes at the end of this chapter and the next, but then I changed the breakpoints for the chapters, and when I separated Sessali/Vector's kitchen conversation from the previous chapter, I discovered that it was too short to stand on its own, forcing me to add it to the next - which then made that chapter too long, as well, and I needed to split it. As a result, much that I had in mind to say I've had to revamp.
> 
> However, I had decided on the sterility aspect a long time ago, partly because it makes the most sense in terms of biology, and I can't ignore the science, and partly to retain my concept of Paha as childfree (yes, I see the counter-argument: her stance is irrelevant and forced if it is a matter of infertility). I get irked that often in mainstream entertainment media, even apparently happily unchilded women suddenly get inexplicable cases of baby-rabies. 
> 
> Most of the time, it feels like the writers throw in pregnancy plots as a substitute for real story arcs with genuine character development, because they just don't know what to do with female characters and all women really secretly want babies, right? Even when they say they don't they really do! Sigh. I don't want to fall into that trap, despite the fact that I actually have played around with writing a few AU scenes where Paha and Vector do, in fact, opt for having a larger family. (Which throws me into the worse trap of the Miracle Baby plot line, double sigh and ugh.) I will likely never finish or post that story - the more I wrote on it the more it felt like I was just cribbing from Brian Vaughan/Fiona Staples' "Saga" comic (What? You haven't read it? Put my rubbish down and go read it right now!). But some plot ideas amused me and I needed to get them out of my head to clear the way to work on what I really wanted to write.
> 
> Anyway, point being, it comes down to lazy writing, and the plot gets milked for some temporary drama, or maybe some temporary laughs, and then what? This is why (for shows that don't focus on parenthood) the trope is for it to happen in the final episode(s) - because then the writers don't have to actually deal with the consequences of what they wrote, like forcing the woman to get something she never wanted, or that her personality has suddenly upended itself and she's thrilled, although it is entirely out of character for her based on her previous behavior. In short, it is "You'll change your mind" AND "it's different when it's your own" AND "all women want kids" wrapped up in one. Suffice to say, I'm not a fan.
> 
> ...On a side note, I think _Drones_ passed the Bedschel test, but I don't think this one will.


	26. The Searching of Two Souls

“So,” Paha said, more to break the preternatural still than anything else, “on to topic number two, then?”

 

“If you like,” Vector hedged.

 

A moment later, Paha answered, “At this point, it's a big white gundark sitting on this bench with us. If we don't talk about it now, we'll both be anxious and dancing around it until we finally decide to rip its ears off and be done with it.”

 

“How true.” A small smirk flashed over Vector's lips, and he turned a little towards her. “And should we be less brave to talk to our wife than we are to fight alongside her?”

 

“I've never once seen even the remotest cause to complain of your bravery. You're the bravest man I've ever met.” She gave him a smile of equal parts sincerity and sauciness. “You'd have to be, to put up with me for long.”

 

Vector gave a laugh, a little, shaky noise with frayed edges. “You make that easier than you suspect,” he replied. He sobered, gathering his thoughts and words as he looked at her, and Paha didn't interrupt. At length, he inhaled, and spoke.

 

“We apologize that you found out this way. We never meant to be secretive; we intended to tell you – it just never seemed the right time. You – _we_ – had enough challenges of grander scope and more immediate importance to bring it up, and then, when those were behind us... we didn't want to disrupt what we finally had time to enjoy on Xaastu.”

 

“You don't have to apologize for that,” Paha answered softly. “I know you would have said something, on your own time.”

 

“When Doctor Lokin studied us, he drew the conclusion then, but it was only after reviewing data recovered from Project Protean that he was sure. The genetic alterations; the changes at the cellular level – he is quite certain. We cannot have children... with you.” Vector's voice was low and weary, as one worn thin from a long struggle.

 

“With me?” Paha caught the choice of phrasing.

 

“With another Joiner – a _human_ Joiner – it would be possible. Or have the greatest chance of success, at least. The differences between a human and a Chiss would have... been a challenge. But not an insurmountable one. Likewise, a human and a human Joiner might have some faint hope, although only with medical intervention. But a human Joiner and a Chiss – Doctor Lokin was quite clear.” Paha could see the muscles in his throat strain as he swallowed hard. “We're sorry. We're so sorry.”

 

Whatever he expected, it wasn't what Paha said next. “Why are you apologizing?”

 

He blinked several times, processing the question. “Because – you – that is...” he stammered. “We – we led you to understand we had... recovered our human side. But... we were wrong – and we... we can't give –”

 

“You can't give me a baby,” Paha supplied mildly, looking into his distressed face. “And at what point did I ever say I wanted one?”

 

Vector was so struck by the question that he actually drew his head back in surprise. “We...” he began uncertainly. There had been one occasion in the past that he had seen her desires before she had recognized them, but in this, there had been nothing – yet – to hint that this was within the realm of her future hopes.

 

“We never discussed it,” Paha stated, somewhat pragmatically. “An oversight, I guess, but as you pointed out, we've had more than a few other things to take care of. But there's no time like the present.”

 

He bit his lips a moment, feeling somewhat at a loss. “We're sorry – but this time,” he added, with a lopsided smile, “only for making assumptions. Then: Paha, how _do_ you feel about children?”

 

“Wholly ambivalent at the best of times, and fairly negative at the worst,” she answered promptly. She read the surprise that flashed into Vector's face; her glib reply, she realized, might have made her seem thoughtless or casual in her reaction to the topic when nothing could be further than the truth. “I didn't have a particularly happy childhood; I have only the barest memory of my father, and what I remember of my mother after his death was how sad she was. Then we were exiled, and we had almost nothing. It was all my mother could do to ensure we had a decent meal once a day, and I didn't see it at the time, but I know she went without so that I could go to bed without crying from hunger. When I figured it out, I spent years thinking if I hadn't been so selfish, she wouldn't have been so weak, and she might be alive now. That I somehow contributed to her death.”

 

“No. Oh, no,” Vector interjected urgently. “Whatever she did, she did out of love for you, we're sure.”

 

“But do you see how even that idea can be damaging?” Paha objected gently. “That my mother's love for me eventually destroyed her? She starved herself to skin and bone and worked herself to death for _me._ All so that I might survive, or better than survive. Perhaps that's why I fight so hard now – she gave up everything for me, and it would be the basest ingratitude if I didn't strive at least as much. Children get funny ideas sometimes, and I was hardly more than a child when she died. That was all I knew of love: that had she loved me less, had I not existed, she would be yet living. That idea shaped my thoughts on love for... oh... well, all my life. Until you.”

 

“We think we understand. Love can be...” Vector thought of his sister. “Burdensome, at times.”

 

“Love, as I knew it, meant self-sacrifice, and deprivation, and emotional imprisonment,” Paha agreed. “Although I know better now.”

 

“But – ” Vector paused, and when Paha gestured for him to continue, he hazarded, “it's a delicate question. You might not like how we phrase it.”

 

“Won't know unless you try, right? Since we're baring our souls here, let's not keep anything back.”

 

“Is your reluctance to have children the product of genuine antipathy, or are you just scared?” Vector asked, so bluntly that Paha couldn't resist a wry smile.

 

“Nice. I _did_ ask for that,” she replied easily, taking refuge in some rather limp humor to give herself a moment to consider the question. “Both, I think. The thought of facing Darth Jadus or even Hunter again, five times over each, doesn't terrify me half so much as the idea of having a child. The kind of work I do, the life we lead, the uncertainty and danger and instability – there were some elements of that in how I grew up, and believe me when I say it takes a toll. Seeing this – how you grew up, imagining what your life had been like... it's a difference like night and day; as a child, I could never have conceived of living in such security. It made me who I am, yes. But it might have made me something very much worse.

 

“Once I became an adult... I can't say that I have spent enough time around children to know whether I really like them or not, and since I don't feel a particular drive to change that, I suspect that I generally don't. And then, could you imagine: turning a toddler over to Raina or Kaliyo or – stars above – Scorpio while we headed out on a mission to confront a galactic threat with every chance that one or both of us wouldn't return?”

 

“It would be... irresponsible,” Vector nodded slowly. He recalled that when Paha had once, long before, made a vague hint at joining the Killik Colony, he had objected to the idea, citing that it would change her too fundamentally. Joining would have meant her giving up her career, her position, her future and her expectations for it – things he would not choose to see her relinquish. Parenthood would mean changes of a different kind, but on a similar scale for them both. “You sound like you _have_ , in fact, given this some thought.”

 

“Only generally, really. Conclusions I drew from the evidence of my life,” Paha shrugged.

 

“Even if your life changes enough that the conclusions might no longer be valid?”

 

“Then I re-evaluate, as warranted.” Paha shifted her head, curious about the question, but drawing no inferences. “So that's me. What of you? Do you want children?”

 

“Rather irrelevant, isn't it?”

 

“Not at all. I am asking about what you _want_ , not what Doctor Lokin claims you are capable of.”

 

Vector drummed his fingers restlessly on his knee for a moment before speaking. “Anora used to mention it, at times. She very much wanted children,” he said finally, in a distant tone, deflecting the question without meaning to. “And... we admit, we did, too – when the time was right – although on occasion we did wonder if it was more that we were just being compliant with her wishes. But... we think we did, on our own. When we were no longer together, it felt like a more pointless question, and then, after we Joined, we ceased to think about it at all. We never gave it another thought until Doctor Lokin told us. It has been on our mind, off and on, since then. Our Killik half understands, and accepts, this fact. Our human half is... rebellious. The idea – we assumed – that we would deny you this distressed us, and we were... ashamed. It felt like failure. These feelings – failure, shame, rebellion – they can have a powerful hold on motivation, and color the lens through which we see our desires. Human nature is always so perverse – a human never wants something more than when he is told he can't have it.”

 

“I've noticed,” Paha replied dryly. “So... ambivalent to positive, you would say?”

 

“More ambivalent, now, than anything,” he answered gravely, staring with dark eyes across the sunlit pond. “There doesn't seem to be much point to be otherwise.”

 

“Don't discount adoption,” Paha suggested, calling to his mind that she had been adopted into the Chiss house of Miurani; he had himself, in essence, been adopted by the Killiks.

 

“No, we never would. We don't believe family or love is determined by the ties of blood alone; we never have.” He turned to face her again, the pools of his eyes kindling love and uncertainty and a thousand other things in their black depths, and his voice dropped to a dusky, tender register. “But there has been a time or two, here and there, where we forget the reality and we think only on the fantasy, and we imagine what it would be like to watch the sparks of our lives kindle a new flame within you, and to see a new aura, unique in all the galaxy, bud and blossom within your own... Such a thing would rival the dancing of the stars.”

 

Her heart throbbing painfully in her breast, and a moment later, she softly murmured, “Damn.” It was the sort of speech that, coupled with those life changes already obliquely referenced, might – _might_ – tempt a woman to change her mind, and then where would they be? She bit her lip, and Vector could see some sort of struggle within her, generosity and possessiveness battling each other for dominance. “If –” she offered hesitantly. He held very still, tensely observing her and waiting to see which would win.

 

“If you,” she tried again, her voice small and troubled, “wanted... badly enough. To find a human woman, a Joiner – I would let... I wouldn't hold you back,” she blurted in a sudden rush, her mind suddenly conjuring the phantasmal image of the deceased Daizanna of the Iesei nest. Generosity had won, and clearly, it made her miserable; her aura clung to her, shrunken and wan, and he had smelled the salt of her grief long before it trembled in her eyes. She choked out, “No resentment.”

 

Her last words were barely audible, not only because of the emotions smothering her, but because he had flung his arms around her abruptly, as if he were afraid she were about to leave him then and there, and he crushed her against him, burying her face and words in his chest.

 

“No,” he rasped hoarsely, tears spilling from his eyes. “No! We would rather have you, solid and real in our arms, than any hypothetical wish that slips like moonlight through our fingers. You, always, first and foremost.”

 

There was a long moment when they were both silent, clinging to each other, feeling the life and love and all the pain that came with those two things swarming within and between them. Finally, wrung out with gratitude and relief and more things that she couldn't identify, Paha slowly raised her head, trying not to sniffle and failing utterly.

 

“Here's something to consider,” she said, a shy smile fluttering up from the rippling well of her unsettled emotions. “A reason to be thankful for my unmotherly manner.”

 

Vector smoothed a trickle of dampness from her cheek and looked into her watery scarlet eyes, and then through them further into the quelling turmoil of feeling in her aura. She was trying to keep her tone somewhat light, but she was unmistakably serious and intent. “And what would that be?” he asked softly.

 

“If I were...” she paused, unexpectedly confounded by the emotional severity of the idea that had leaped into her head. “If I did want children badly, as badly as, say, Anora, then we couldn't stay together. Not and be happy. What we have would be marred by sadness and bitterness. It would destroy us.”

 

A pained look crossed Vector's features, and she slipped her hand in a gentle caress over his cheek, down his neck to rest it on his chest where her fingers curled into the fabric of his collar lapel. “But as we are now? There isn't a single thing in the galaxy preventing me from choosing to spend my life with the man that is the most important thing that's ever touched it.”

 

The dumbfounded expression was still on his face when she leaned forward and kissed him with a tenderness so infinite and so expressively sweet that it seemed, as he slid his arms around her again, it would shatter them both.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Most of what I had to say about this I soapboxed about last chapter.
> 
> Not much else, other than that some of this, like Paha's last speech, is actually... pretty intensely personal for me.


	27. Faultlines

From some distance away they were able to spy Adronik, ostensibly puttering about the plantings of the front garden, but clearly keeping watch for them by the way his head flew up at the sight of their approach, then quickly bowed again as he returned to plucking up little clusters of intrusive weeds.

 

“Father,” Vector greeted him calmly. The older man straightened, slowly brushing dirt from his fingers. “Is Mother very upset still?”

 

Adronik sighed a little. “Yes. But,” he added, seeing the troubled look spread on Vector's face, “not at you. Not really. She heard – she told me what Elsian said to you. Elsy had no right to say that, Vector. None at all. And don't think for a minute that she speaks for all of us. And don't think, either, that I can speak for anyone but myself, but I tell you straight up I am very glad you are home.”

 

Adronik wasn't generally given to public or effusive demonstrations of regard, as might be expected of a person who had spent the bulk of his life under the constraints of military behavior, but it didn't stop him now from pulling his son into a sincere and affectionate embrace.

 

“So very glad,” he repeated fiercely, hoarsely over Vector's shoulder. “And I'm not ashamed to own it. I should have said so sooner.”

 

Vector was far too overwhelmed to speak, so relied wholly on the simplicity of this ordinary gesture to convey the depth of complex and extraordinary emotion that wracked him, not just at this moment, but for all the tense hours and days that had preceded it. Adronik drew back a little, gripping his son by the hand and clapping him brusquely on the shoulder, and only then seemed to notice Paha, hovering a few steps behind and doing her best to remain unobtrusive.

 

“And you!” he proclaimed, coughing away a choking emotion that caught in his throat. Perhaps it was some sense of decorum, to draw her attention, and his own, from Vector as he worked to compose himself, wrung out and emotionally exhausted as he was now. “You've had a rough welcome here, I'd say. Hard words, when instead, we should be thanking you. I'm not so dull that I can't see how much of this – of having Vector back here at all – is due to you, Legate.”

 

A second later, Paha found herself tugged into an engulfing bear hug, with half her breath being squeezed out of her from the older man's strong arms. He gave her a smacking kiss on her cheek.

 

“Oh! Well –” she said with a vague gesture to deflect the praise as her cheeks flamed purple. “Thank you, sir.”

 

A little flustered, she glanced at Vector, who was looking somewhat better than he had been for the entirety of their visit. His father's acceptance had strengthened him in a way Paha recognized she never could, and while he certainly couldn't deny the enormity of the challenges still before him, neither did he feel as fatalistically unequipped to take them on.

 

“You should go in and speak to your mother,” Adronik broke the lull. “I think you will find her willing to listen to you. Partly because she is so upset at what your sister said, but partly because I told her that if she drove you away this time, I wouldn't stand for it; I couldn't. She'd lose her husband as well as her son. Break us all apart for good.”

 

“Father... Oh, poor Mother,” Vector said, almost a groan, but he pulled back from an outright condemnation of his father's ultimatum. He nodded. “Thank you; we will.”

 

He then cocked his head towards Paha. “We know you don't think anything you say will have an impression on Elsian, but, if you don't mind, we think we'd like you to try. Or,” he amended, “at the very least, keep her out from underfoot so we can talk to Mother without interruption.”

 

"Divide and conquer, then?" asked Paha, her mind already pursuing her possible courses of accomplishing this new mission.

 

“Should we confiscate your vibroblade?" Vector asked wryly, and it was some mark of his improvement that he felt stable enough to joke.

 

"I'll keep it under control. Besides,” Paha added brightly, “it's not like I actually need it to kill somebody, anyway."

 

\- - - -

 

Without hesitation, Vector's steps took him directly to where his heightened senses told him his mother was while Paha peeled off to the hallway of bedrooms, feeling the irony of the role reversal: for once, she would be the one intruding on Elsian's privacy, instead of the other way around. Well, turn-table was only fair, and frankly, Elsian deserved it. But she at least troubled herself with the courtesy of knocking. After all, Elsian _was_ family now.

 

Unsurprisingly, there was no response. Paha knocked again.

 

“Go away,” came a muffled voice through the door.

 

Equally unsurprisingly, the door was locked, but it certainly wasn't for nothing that Paha had been a top cipher agent of the Empire. The title might be gone, but the skills weren't.

 

Elsian, who had been curled on her bed face-down and sulking, shot upright with an indignant noise as Paha strolled in, re-securing the door behind her. She paused and surveyed the room – feminine, but not girly, painted in blue and white. Elsian said nothing, but looked at her with a reproachful glare as Paha nonchalantly paced slowly about, making a visual inventory and inspection of the room's contents – the books and files on the shelves, the random knick-knacks given from her father but left behind when she moved to her downtown flat, the clothes draped negligently over a chair, pulled out from the desk. The young woman sitting surly on the bed, mute and stubborn.

 

“You know,” Paha said after a few minutes, still without looking at her sister-in-law, “fairly early on in my career, I was tasked with securing the allegance of a certain Hutt gangster – you know what the Hutt's are like, yes? – while also scuttling the Republic's attempts to recruit his business rival.”

 

Elsian rolled her eyes, but her melodrama was wasted; Paha wasn't even looking at her.

 

“My way in to the Hutt's confidence was through one of his inner circle, a sort of steward for his interests. He was a nice man – nice to me, anyway, and that is what mattered at the time – friendly, helpful... I think he was hoping to set me up with one of his sons. But his sons crossed a Sith, leaving one of them dead and another crippled and a third imprisoned, and my contact's rage over it made him more of a liability to my mission than an asset. So I did what I had to do; I killed him.”

 

A surreptitious glance from the corner of her eye told Paha that Elsian was sitting very still, breathless and tense, despite herself and her efforts to look bored. Paha's blue skin seemed to fade in and out with the paint on the walls as the sun and breeze through the trees outside played with the shadows that shifted and danced across the room, and Elsian refused to admit to herself how unnerving it was. What was the point of this story anyway? To prove that her new sister-in-law was a badass? To scare her into shutting up? It's not like she was going to murder her in her own room – was she? Unlikely, if only because Vector would likely be pretty upset about it. Elsian recalled her harsh words, and began to question it.

 

“The man treated me like a daughter, and I killed him for the love he bore his sons,” Paha repeated. After a moment of silence, Paha asked abruptly, “Have you ever met a Sith?”

 

Elsian could not evade a question so direct, and although she briefly considered staying mulishly silent, the answer tumbled from her mouth before she could stop it. “No.”

 

“Mm. I didn't think so,” Paha replied, but to Elsian's surprise, it wasn't spoken in a tone of gloating or superiority. There was no hint of condescension. If anything, Legate sounded almost – Elsian paused, not quite believing her own impression – almost _envious_.

 

“I've met Sith,” Paha continued, not quite knowing herself why she was saying so. “I've worked for Sith; I've worked alongside Sith; I've worked against Sith. I've fought Sith. I've killed Sith. So has Vector, at my side. There are many who would say that makes us traitors.” Paha at last turned to look Elsian full in the face. “If you want – if you _really_ and _truly_ want to see your brother dead, all you need to do is tell the authorities that there are traitors in your house. At your word, we will be captured, imprisoned, tortured, and executed. And I can tell you from experience that the both of us can endure quite a lot of torture before death comes for us. Is that what you want?”

 

Again, the direct question that could not be evaded. Elsian, half-strangled with shame, struggled harder against replying this time.

 

“Is that what you want?” Paha repeated again, coldly, and Elsian visibly flinched as though the words had lashed her.

 

“No,” she whispered, fresh tears spilling from her brimming eyes.

 

Paha folded her arms and regarded Elsian for a moment, noting the puffy eyes, rimmed red above flushed and swollen cheeks. “Well,” she said in a slightly warmer tone, “at least it seems you aren't lost to _all_ proper feeling. You're not a foregone case, just a selfish brat.”

 

“What!”

 

“You heard me,” Paha replied evenly. “You, Elsian Hyllus, are a self-centered, stuck-up, clueless brat. I doubt anyone has had the nerve to tell you to your face before. But there's hope for you yet. Most people don't get to learn their faults so directly or thoroughly.  How fortunate for you.”

 

“You –” Elsian gasped, outraged, “You're saying I'm _lucky_?”

 

“Of course you are!” Paha exclaimed. “You have so much – _so so_ much. You have your own apartment, and a nice house you can visit any time you want. That's two places you can call home. You have a job, a stable income, where you can meaningfully contribute to your community, your city, your planet, even the Empire itself. You live on a world far from any of the war. You don't have to worry about evacuating, or being killed in a bombardment. You haven't had to serve in the Imperial military, and risk your own life for all this security you currently enjoy. And moreover, you have a mother and a father and a brother, all of whom love you despite what you put them through. That's a lot. A hell of a lot.”

 

Paha expected an outburst, a torrent of fury in response, but to her surprise, Elsian was silent for several minutes. This couldn't be the effect of Paha's words alone; perhaps Elsian had already been aware of how far over the line she had stepped, and realized that how perilously close to “unforgivable” her behavior had taken her. She had never, after all, felt so ashamed before her all her life.

 

“You,” Elsian said again, but far more calmly, “You didn't have that.”

 

Paha had been so focused on Elsian's pettiness that she had rather forgotten how perspicacious the younger woman could be; the astute insight startled her.

 

“No, I didn't,” she admitted. “And I already told you how I have destroyed that for other people, even at a cost to myself. I have been on both sides of it – the losing and the taking. I can't tell you what to do. But if the voice of experience carries any weight with you, I'd suggest that you don't be so quick to lose what you have, and don't be so quick to be the one who takes it from others. Your father. Your mother. Your own self.”

 

“Vector. And you,” Elsian added quietly.

 

To say “now you're getting it,” struck Paha as being rather _too_ patronizing, and she didn't want to risk destroying all the progress she had just accomplished, so she simply forced a small smile as she answered, “Them, too.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wooo, finally getting back to writing again! Hurrah! We didn't think a simple room repaint was going to take us almost 4 weeks, but that's the fun (read: not really fun) thing about old houses: fixing ANYTHING (and everything) takes longer than expected by at least a factor of 3, and more likely a factor of 5. 
> 
> I had the first half of this chapter written before the housework started, but hadn't figured out just how, exactly, I was going to handle either Paha's or Vector's conversations with the estranged family. When I recalled Paha's issues with family closeness, and how she had had to betray Karrels Jarvis in chapter 1, it struck me as something that would have really affected her. I was still very new to the game when I played that arc, and at the time I wasn't yet sure how extensive the repercussions were on in-game decisions. I worried that if I took the Light Side option and faked Jarvis' death, the deception would be later revealed, perhaps resulting in failing to secure Nem'ro's allegiance. So I did take the Dark Side option and did, in fact, kill Jarvis, although I was bummed to do so, because he really was a very likable character. Paha would have felt the same - regretting the necessity, but following through on her mission.
> 
> The other crazy thing delaying my writing/posting is that I am actually - *gasp* - playing TOR again. I had been so busy writing that I hadn't actually been playing, but I moved all my Light Side toons to a new guild and created and insta-60 to run Ops and such with the guildmates there, which has been really fun. I'm largely a solo player in MMOs (ironic, I know), or team only with a small set of friends I know in real life. Back when we all played City of Heroes together, this worked well, as we could put an 8-man team together no problem. But after CoH was shuttered several years ago (I am still bitter, NCSoft, STILL BITTER), we scattered off to different games - Star Trek Online, Champions Online, Star Wars The Old Republic, for me, and others to Neverwinter, WoW, Diablo 3, DnD Online, and console games like Battlefront, Warframe, and such - and we never all came together on the same game ever again. 
> 
> So, it's nice to be back in a group-team setting, although I don't really like the changes that have resulted in every character needing to be an optimally-geared level 65 just to make it through a few ops. I liked it better when there were missions/flashpoints/operations that were arrayed across a wide variety of character levels; I liked to be able to play these with whatever my current favorite was without having to grind them up to 65. Ok, also, I admit, I loved running Hammer Station solo with a high level character just to snag certain pieces of gear and to nudge my alignment one way or another if I was shifting too far a certain direction, or to just frolic as a super-powerful Sith - because really, it WOULD be like that. Sad that I can't do that anymore.


	28. All That Grace

Thoroughly worn out with the upheavals of the day, Paha ended her conversation with Watcher Three, tossed aside her holocommunicator without much caring where it landed, and flung herself fully clothed and face-down across the bed. Emotional ordeals, she had come to understand, were as trying and as exhausting as physical ones, and so many in quick succession had left her bone-weary, with an ache that went deeper than her muscles. She rolled over, hugging herself from the odd chill that accompanies such expenditures of feeling, and stared at the ceiling, wondering how much more drained Vector was feeling – unless he was already asleep. The hour was very late. She had been laying there, her tired thoughts meandering, for only a minute or two when her holo, barely beginning to cool from the warmth of her hand, piped imperturbably at her. The resulting frustrated stream of profanity silently playing out in her mind stopped abruptly as she picked up the device and took a closer look. A message from Vector.

 

_Do you have a minute?_

 

A sensation that inextricably blended peace, excitement, and pleasure curled warmly through her, and a fresh throb, a different sort of ache, pulsed through her worn frame. Yes, she certainly had a minute – and rather some amount more. Instead of answering over the bald electronic connection, Paha pushed herself off the bed with more energy than she would have thought she could have mustered, and went to the door with the intent to head to his room to speak directly. She nearly jumped out of her hide to find him standing there, mute and wanting in the dark.

 

Without a word, he stepped into the room at once, and in the same instant, almost without his being aware of his motions, his arms were around her, his fingers rucking up her shirt to slide his hands beneath the smooth material and over the sleek cerulean skin of her waist, her back, and her shoulders; his lips devoured her mouth, her cheek, her ear, her neck, and all his muscles and nerves strained to touch hers. As she sank against him, her flagging nerves simultaneously both energized and weakened by the sudden rush of the thrilled response to his touch, his heart leaped and staggered at the brush of her breasts against his chest, separated though they were by so many layers of clothing, and it was suddenly beyond his ability to make any distinction between the scent, sight, or sound of her passionate desire, so strongly it flared up in her aura.

 

“Please don't send us away,” he murmured in her ear, his fervent voice husky and wanting. “Please. We need you tonight. Now.”

 

His hand skidded swiftly down her leg and beneath her skirt, sliding broad-palmed up the terrain of her thigh, drawing a little gasping mewl from her throat as his fingers grasped her bottom and hitched her closer, pulling her weight firmly against him and his desire for her.

 

“I couldn't,” she whispered with a shiver that writhed her whole body against his. “Send you away, I mean. I was already on my way to you; stay with me!”

 

She laced her fingers into his hair and pulled his lips back to hers, breathing him in and letting all the familiar heat of him inflame her, and he made a noise, louder than he meant to, into her mouth as she pushed her hips heavily against his.

 

“Shhh!” she giggled furtively with a glance towards the door, which stood still half-open and forgotten. “Your sister –”

 

“...is directly next door and likely has her ear pressed to the wall, the little sneak,” Vector growled, raising his head. A thoughtful look crossed his face, making him look impishly mischievous with his mussed hair. “It puts us in mind to give her something worth listening to.”

 

“Oh, you wouldn't!” Paha muffled her cackling giggles in his chest, squinting shut vibrant eyes that glittered wantonly with crimson lust and shameless naughtiness.

 

“We wouldn't ask you to, at any rate,” he answered, pulling the unbuttoned neckline of her shirt aside to kiss down the sleek azure slope of her chest until her underclothes prevented him from going any further over her bosom. His hand beneath her shirt slipped between their bodies to dance its fingers over her breast and with ravenous eyes he watched her bite her lip to rein in the vocal response before it escaped her. “But that is no impediment.”

 

He grabbed her hand then and drew her, silently as she could possibly be while smothering her giggles into her knuckles, down the hall to his room, where he secured the door behind them in nearly same sweep of his arm that he used to pull her against him again.

 

“At least this puts another room between ours and Elsian's,” he mumbled out between kisses.

 

“Mmm,” Paha replied, needing a moment for her brain to properly formulate a reply. “But less between us and your parents. What would your mother think?” she chided playfully.

 

“She would probably be comforted to have such proof that we are still capable of so mammalian a behavior,” he smirked. “Besides, they're asleep. We can tell.”

 

Her trembling fingers were tugging at the buttons of his shirt, and he presently gave up on the last of hers, yanking the shirt impatiently over her head and making half the hair on her head stand up messily.

With a laugh, he moved his hand up to smooth down the unruly strands, and Paha paused in unbuckling his belt to flash a saucy look at him from her smoldering eyes.

 

"Why bother?" she asked, and his laugh deepened, rumbling softly through him even as he bent to cast aside his boots and pants. He paused a moment to kiss the soft skin near her navel with tender, burning lips, and his fingers found the warm dampness between her legs as his mouth found the firm nubs of her breasts, and she gasped and twitched as the ache of desire strengthened its demand. She pulled at him, wrapped a leg around him, yearned for him with all her being, and he caught her up in his strong hands, hoisting her to entwine the other leg at his waist with her skirt shoved up, and balanced her against the mounting pressure they felt between them as she drowned them both in fervent kisses, leaving him gasping.

 

He laid her back on his bed, a narrower platform than either their broad space on the _Phantom_ or the couch in the spare room up the hall, in the room that had been his from childhood, where so much of his human life had been spent before his familial exile, and where now it was at last witness to his semi-Killik adulthood. For just a moment he hovered over her, suspended, for neither the first nor the last time insensibly stunned at the sight of his wife, the strong, lithe creature who had accepted more of him than he had ever expected any one could after those who had loved him best had distanced themselves from him, cursed by that same love that had given rise to the toxic expectations between them. And still stranger, that she had had a hand in chipping away at the mordant that had cemented those poisons into a nearly impenetrable wall between himself and his birth family! The trying recollections of the day surged into his brain, nearly overwhelming him as he stared at her with eyes that sparked like stars in the void.

 

Paha reached for him then, her fingers raking urgently over his body as though seeking to trace every line of him, frozen under her burning touch, as though to hold every part in hands that were too inadequate for the job. He shuddered as her caresses pursued all the fire in his blood and all the clarion calls of his nerves, down to his most intimate parts, breaking him loose from his paralytic trance, and she pulled him down to the bed that he might muffle his sound and his desire in the blankets and in her flesh.

 

“Holy -!” Vector rasped out hoarsely, dizzy with driving desire as she welcomed him, drawing him inward with the movements of her hands and her hips as she arched, the firm roundness of her breasts pressing against his chest. He had propped himself up on his elbows as he had sunk upon her, and she took his hands now in her own, interlacing their fingers in alternating lines of light brown and azure, and gently pulled at his arms, enticing him to lay fully on her without regard to his weight. He let his head droop, burying his face in her neck to intoxicate himself on her scent, to feel her squirm and writhe beneath him as he traced that one particular cluster of sensitive nerves below her ear with his tongue, to make the struggle against losing himself in the innermost recesses of her love and soul that much more difficult to win.

 

“Let go,” she coaxed in a tone that fell between a gasp and a murmur, the words trailing down the curve of his spine like droplets of water, and she clasped his hips with her thighs, tightening all her muscles. “Let go...”

 

And he did, smothering the sound of his hoarse shout in her shoulder, his lips sucking hard at the skin along her collarbone to choke down a second cry, and his fingers digging fiercely into her hands as he shook, his nerves singing a tuneless, joyous howl that echoed throughout his whole body. With a tremulous breath, he relaxed on her limply for a few seconds vainly trying to recall himself, and his first truly coherent thought was a vague, fearful notion that perhaps he had been selfish or inconsiderate, and he pushed himself up quickly on one arm, looking down into her face with eyes that held some degree of rueful anxiety.

 

“We're sorry –” He stuttered before registering that Paha's aura was entirely tranquil. Desiring, certainly, and still yearning white-hot for him, but there wasn't the barest hint of disappointment or reproach in it.

 

“What for?” she asked softly, her fingertips drawing languid designs on his back. She smiled archly. “I achieved _my_ goal.”

 

“We – did not mean... um... so quickly,” he finished lamely. He propped himself up more steadily on his elbows; the action seemed to stabilize his unfocused thoughts as well. “We're not crushing you?”

 

“Do you hear me complaining?” she inquired.

 

“No,” he admitted, bowing his head to kiss her lightly on the nose. “Although we thought that might be only because you couldn't breathe.”

 

“Not quite.” Paha wiggled a little, her warm cerulean skin gliding against the his, sweat-dampened and already awakening to the promise of more, and gave him a look of utter licentiousness. “But don't imagine I'll let you off so soon. Not until you leave me breathless for _real._ ”

 

“Then we have another opportunity to achieve _our_ goal.” Vector's voice was low and as pleasantly rough against her throat as the hint of stubble on his cheek, rasping delicately along her neck and over the hollow of her collarbone to points lower, as he averred, “And how we do look forward to it.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes? For a chapter entirely of smutty mcsmutsterism? 
> 
> Well, ok. 
> 
> Basically, now that Vector's reached some ground of concord with his family (namely, his mother), he feels less like a guest in their house and more like a member of the family again - which means he's more comfortable at the idea of breaking some of the rules Sessali had set out. And who is Paha to argue with that? ;-)
> 
> I have a Spotify playlist I put on when I write the smutty bits. It's an odd mix, with a surprising amount of Sarah McLachlan on it, but the chapter title is a line from Lana Del Rey's "Young and Beautiful."


	29. Cognizance

“So what did Watcher Three have to say?” Vector inquired softly some while later.

 

“Mmmf,” Paha replied without opening her eyes.

 

“Surprising,” Vector mused seriously. “How long it took him to say that, that is. We suppose Sith must have been eavesdrop-”

 

He broke off at the dim sight of one red eye cracked open to bestow upon him a baleful look, a glare that nonetheless ill-concealed the wave of sarcastic amusement that rippled through her. With a chuckle, he slipped his fingers through the indigo-black strands of her hair, gently drawing her head back to its resting place on his shoulder.

 

“For one, he was equally annoyed with The Fund's cutesy name games,” Paha wrinkled her lips. “But more importantly, he found the same pattern we observed in the Nystiera accounts in multiple – by which I mean a few thousand in all – accounts stretched throughout the remaining banks. Most are similar to what we found – innocuous, low-moneyed holdings with nothing remarkable about them, save for their owners all being completely fake. A handful did trace back to owners who are dead.”

 

“Truly dead, or merely dead on file?” Vector queried.

 

“Truly dead. Bodies and identities witnessed and verified.”

 

“By enough independent entities as to ensure that the deaths are not a Cabal-engineered cover-up?”

 

“Keeper thinks not.” Paha made a movement that might have been a shrug.

 

“Did Watcher Three find anyone who _isn't_ dead or fake, then? We found one of those.”

 

“A handful, and those have stumped Three, too. He's still working on it. So far, that has gone nowhere.” A murky tone of frustration shaded her aura, raising little peaks of pungent hues out of the slow whirl of tranquility.

 

“Not all paths lead to destination you expect, but it doesn't mean that journey is wasted,” Vector offered by way of consolation. He pressed his lips together in thought. “So The Fund is observing all activity on all accounts, but only a subset of those are false holdings directly under his control. What does that mean? Was Watcher Three able to deduce what The Fund's ultimate goal is?”

 

“He's tied up the mainframe at Intelligence with that question for the past day.”

 

“Right under the noses of his new Sith masters? We hadn't realized the colors of his boldness were so vibrant.” Vector sounded both amused and appreciative. “Although as we recall his standing up to Lord Razer, we think we shouldn't be surprised.”

 

“His bravery is mostly of the sneaky kind, which is, frankly, exactly what we need,” Paha answered with a wry little chuckle. Vector made no reply for a few silent moments. “What is it?”

 

Vector shook his head slightly. “Sneaky,” he repeated slowly. “Based on the history of the Cabal's maneuverings, it's only what we have been expecting. A multifaceted underhanded enterprise. But what if it were not so complex? What if we are searching for something that doesn't exist?”

 

“I'm not sure I follow.”

 

“When the Cabal was at its height, it would have needed all of The Fund's entangled methods,” Vector pointed out.

 

“But with the Cabal gone, those are now essentially pointless,” Paha concluded, catching on to Vector's musings. “All of this might just be... leftovers.”

 

“Residues of former stratagems. Perfume left behind after the flowers have been reaped,” Vector confirmed. “And while we are chasing airy trails, we miss the leaves that still are right before us.”

 

“Then you think this could all just be a set up for – what, a simple robbery?”

 

“From what we have seen, The Fund could empty every account on Djircelle with a wave of a hand.”

 

“If his goal is simply to enrich himself, then why hasn't he done that hand wave yet?” Paha questioned.

 

“We cannot fathom that,” Vector admitted. “Perhaps he is still working out some other scheme he intends to use the money for? Perhaps he is trying to find a place to hide the proceeds? Moving that much money attracts attention.”

 

Paha made a tiny shiver as her muscles twitched. “What was that?”

 

“That he would need a place – a very secure place – to secret the stolen money. A place that couldn't be traced or sliced to recover what – ”

 

Paha was already shaking her head, and Vector trailed off. “Not that part,” she said. “The part about attracting attention.” She mulled the phrase over, feeling the weight of each word on her tongue as they chased stray thoughts through her mind. “Attracting attention...” she repeated, “to the _money._ After it's gone – Oh, Vector! It's not the _deposit_. It's the theft _itself.”_

 

“Well – Yes...” Vector acknowledged slowly, uncertain at Paha's meaning.

 

“It's not that The Fund wants the money for himself – oh, I mean, yes, to be sure, he probably _does_ ,” Paha explained with increasing eagerness. “It's more that he doesn't want the account holders to have it. And he wants everyone to know those account holders don't have it. When that much money vanishes overnight, people notice; you just so cleverly pointed that out. But worse, people get nervous – lose faith in the institutions, pull their investments, shutter their accounts, and...” Paha took a breath before summing up the rapid and inevitable outcome, “...the economy tanks overnight.”

 

Vector dug his fingers into his chin. “He wouldn't even need to empty every account, just all of the thousands of fakes he has set up.”

 

“And the handful of accounts that appear to tie to real people – people who may have been bankrolling the Cabal in the first place, and are willing to sacrifice their own fortunes to the cause, even if they haven't yet been either killed or arrested,” Paha asserted. “Although I'm sure he isn't above helping himself to as much as he wanted on his way out the door, regardless of who he robs.”

 

“That would be enough to shake investor confidence,” Vector agreed. “The Cabal's tendrils have been rooted into so many levels of Imperial society that Djircelle cannot be the only place he is preparing this. Once all is in place, a final, coordinated command to all financial institutions across the Empire, and he will single-handedly crash the entire Imperial economy. No –” Vector corrected himself, “Not just the Imperial economy; Corporate, Cartel, and Republic, too.”

 

“Instant galactic depression,” Paha confirmed, her voice suddenly subdued. She thought of a long-ago conversation in which she had outlined to Vector her view of the unemployment, penury, and hardship that would be the result of a Cabal-controlled galaxy, or one in which the struggle between Empire and Republic ceased to exist. A destitute population was a desperate and dangerous one, and the ensuing rioting, infighting, and power plays that would fracture the galaxy would be stemmed only by the inevitable pandemics of disease that would ravage indigent populations mired in ill-health, homelessness, and malnutrition. Even in defeat, the Star Cabal would gain some measure of bitter victory, even if their primary goal went unfulfilled. “Nothing else could be capable of causing so much widespread devastation as quickly.

 

Vector's voice was grim in the dark. “And nothing is so great a devastator as immediate and extraordinary poverty.”

 

\- - - -

 

In the pre-dawn twilight of morning, a sober Vector stirred in his bed, a bed made narrower by the presence of a second occupant. The corners of his lips curled slightly as he looked at the tousled hair that flopped loose strands limply over her peaceful face. They had lain together, awake and quiet, for a long time after their terrible conclusion, until Paha had slipped a bare leg out from under the blankets with a caution that indicated she thought he was asleep, and was reluctant to wake him. He slipped a hand along her arm.

 

“Don't leave,” he murmured.

 

“Just to the lavatory,” she replied, her hands fumbling along the floor until she found his shirt and slipped it around herself. “I'll come straight back.”

 

That wasn't true in the strictest sense, as she had crept to her own room to retrieve her robe before returning. A wise precaution, he considered as he glanced down at the clothes knotted across the floor; he made a mental note to ask Kait to mend the broken fastenings on the wrinkled heap of fabric that had been Paha's once-tidy skirt. He shuffled these into a somewhat less sprawling pile, tucked the blanket over his wife's bare shoulder, and slipped away to greet the rising sun.

 

He wasn't destined to perform his duty alone, however; not only did he have the pleasure of a quiet commune with the hive, filling his mind with a great and unified hymn of harmony, but, as he stood with his face raised to the sun's first beams, a familiar step and scent filled the space behind him, despite the quiet caution he had used when he had crept out of their bed. As Paha slipped her arms around him and wordlessly laid her cheek against his back, he entwined his fingers with hers, but did not turn around.

 

They were in this stance still when Sessali, heading for the kitchen and her usual morning tea, stopped as her eye caught them in the garden, and she was struck with an odd idea to question just how many were in her yard. A solid singularity of a union, as demonstrated by the indistinguishability of their melded shadows, long and lean in the low angle of the sun? Two individuals, each independent entities in their own right? Or the entire populace of two strange races, unexpectedly distilled down to these representatives? She stared openly, knowing that at this vantage point, she could not be observed.

 

Days earlier, she had asked Legate if Vector was happy, and the Chiss had replied that he was – family strife notwithstanding. The news had failed to comfort her; if anything, it had only driven deeper the feelings of jealousy and inferiority; the ideas that humanity, that _she_ , had not had sufficient ability or force to call him back to his former self.

 

But as she looked at the pair now, their stretched shadows woven together across the dewy grass of the yard, she could just see how Vector's face, turned skyward, appeared. Tranquil. Controlled. And happy. Not in a manner of glee and mirth, but in the manner of one who has found exactly how he fits into the universe's ineffable patterns, and has neither need nor desire to fight against it. The happiness that springs from genuine contentment, from the satisfaction of decisions made without regret or guilt, and a spirit untrammeled by shame, remorse, or bitterness. Vector, in Legate's arms, was happy. Genuinely, truly, honestly, unabashedly happy, happy in a way that seemed to elude him when Anora had been at his side.

 

Sessali felt the sting of tears in her eyes. Yesterday had been a horrible day, a gut-wrenching, heart-rending, soul-draining day, one that had left her exhausted to her core as all the emotions – the anger, the love, the irritation, the self-pity, the hope, and everything else besides – had come to clash in a raging storm that she had been barely able to withstand, let alone overcome.

 

And Vector had not blamed her for a single iota of it. He had sat beside her without judgment or harsh word as she tried not to cry, and then as she sobbed with abandon. The depth of his forgiveness had given her pain as though it had been a knife in her chest, and yet, the real wonder of it all was that he had not left in anger or despair. He was still here, and still wanted to be her son.

 

That had been the crux of all her fears – that he no longer needed or wanted her, and it had seemed to her that every change in him, every thing that marked how different he was from the Vector of her memory, drove that conviction further home within her. When he had stormed away the afternoon before, she had felt her cold heart shatter within her, convinced beyond words that she would never see her son again, in any format. She accused herself bitterly of not doing enough, most especially of not doing enough to curb the viperous tongue of her own daughter, and felt the horrible truth that her failure would now mean the complete collapse of her whole family and it would be – there was no dodging it – her own fault; the result of her own activity or, perhaps more pointedly, her inactivity.

 

But it had been false. Her own erroneous deduction, drawn from faulty observations and tinted with her apprehensions, the things that had made her foregone conclusion a self-fulfilling prophecy. Seeing him now, in the garden with his wife, both wreathed in a gentle, halo-like glow from the morning rays of light, she felt the weight of expectation tumble away, and she looked at them with some impression that she was seeing them for the first time. It was a bewildering sensation, but she reinforced her resolve to keep the shrouds of her expectations from her eyes, and it limned, as the sun did, the idea that had at last begun to take hold: Vector had arranged his life in the way most suited to ensure his personal happiness. Who was she to demand otherwise?

 

Outside, Paha took one last inhalation, relishing Vector's comforting jessevite-ike scent before sliding into his arms before him.

 

“Sleep well?” Vector inquired. “We didn't mean to wake you.”

 

“Well enough,” Paha said. “Aside from fretting over our next move. I admit I don't know where to go next.”

 

“Three may have something soon. Until then, we can just keep our eyes and ears open, and watch for our opportunity.” With a warm look in the dark depths of his eyes, he bent towards her. “We can think of ways to distract you if you find the time lies heavy on your hands.”

 

Legate, that unusual woman whom Sessali was beginning to recognize had been a key supporting character in the resolution of these years of drama and pain, raised her head, stepping around her husband; they appeared to be talking briefly, before Vector's face bowed to hers, and Sessali turned quickly from the window, as though their actions had broken a spell that had held her. Some things were private, even among family. A tiny smile tugged the corner of her mouth as she recalled waking and realizing, some time in the small hours of the night, that Vector had not in fact spent the time alone, and she amended her statement. Some things were private, _especially_ among family.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yaaaaay, getting back to writing - in between house renovations, yard work, knitting, pirate re-enactments, running a DnD game, and actual go-every-day-and-get-paid work, I feel like I don't have much time for [i]anything[/i] anymore.
> 
> But plot! Developments! Resolution of a problem! Advancement of others! Hurrah!


	30. A Shoe Drops, and Then a Glass

Waiting for their opportunity was all well and good in a hypothetical sense, but Paha would have been lying if she said that she truly felt the patient calm she displayed outwardly. She smiled as she felt appropriate, chatted when she felt called upon to, and kept at least one ear trained on the conversations around her – as yet still somewhat stiff between the family, even, perhaps, a little wary, but lacking the draining tension and painful veneer of false cheerfulness that had glossed them prior to yesterday's eruption.

 

Sessali took no particular note of it – to her, Legate had always been a reserved creature, one who somewhat unnervingly watched and listened – but Adronik saw otherwise, and amused himself by tweaking her about it.

 

“All work and no play, hey?” he commented to her, unobserved as Vector and Sessali had fallen into a conversation of their own.  A twinkle darted teasingly in his gray eye. “After yesterday, I wouldn't expect there are too many problems left to overthink. Must be _quite_ the mission you're on here!”

 

A more genuine smile tugged at Paha's mouth. “Oh, there are always more problems, regardless of thinking, underthinking, or overthinking! Sorry; I didn't mean to be rude.”

 

“Imperial secrets can afford it, from whatever I've been told,” Adronik replied. His gaze shifted, sliding past Paha's shoulder to something new beyond it. “Good morning, Elsian,” he said, his voice calm and neutral.

 

Paha had to admit, even if only to herself, that she had to give Elsian some credit for her appearance among the family; a lesser creature would have kept herself hidden away for the remainder of the day – or even the remainder of their visit, as Paha had half-expected Elsian would. It took courage to emerge from the cocoon of her private room, to acknowledge the brother she had so severely wronged, and to face the sudden upheaval in status – he accepted, more or less, where he had been outcast, and she, fallen from her place as the treasured favorite. And it was all thanks to nothing more than her own behavior – her own petty, ugly selfishness.

 

She had had a white night of it, as the tint of gray-blue shadows around her eyes confessed; a long night where she had taken a hard look at herself and realized how little she liked what she had seen. If Vector's nature had changed, he at least had a whole culture of insects to thank or blame for it; what excuse could she offer? Legate, Elsian grudgingly conceded, was correct in how fortunate she had been, and good fortune could hardly be a suitable reason for how she had behaved. The thought that her alienated brother could be welcomed back into the family at last gave her hope that her own re-acceptance could certainly not be more difficult – she could take pleasure in the idea that she had at least that advantage over Vector. Legate had sketched it for her quite plainly without even intending to do so: if her actions led to Vector's permanent disbarring from the family – even his arrest and execution! – her parents would be well justified in blaming her for it. She would be disowned, she would be outcast, and she would be so much worse off than if she had simply let Vector back in from the outset. Elsian had the grace to blush at the notion, recognizing it for the selfishness it was, and how ingrained within her was her tendency to view every situation and event that brushed elbows with her life in the light of how it impacted - and hopefully benefited - herself. The emotional upheaval of the day before delineated for her clearly that she needed to change; the habits of thought and behavior, however, were not so easily altered. Aware of her pride and privilege for the first time in a very long while, she took up her courage and her responsibility and went out to greet her old world with a self she hoped would be at least somewhat new, or on the road to becoming so.

 

“Good morning, Poppa,” Elsian replied quietly. “Mamma.” There was a slight pause, and she added, “Vector... Legate.”

 

And to Elsian's deep surprise, every single one of them answered her kindly.

 

Which isn't to say, of course, that it wasn't awkward. Oh, it was that, every bit of it. But no one seemed to be inclined to throw her transgressions in her face, the way she had ceaselessly nettled Vector or prodded Legate for the slightest chink in her armor, seeking a vulnerable spot to press. At another time, the warmth she received she would have considered as merely her due, but now she found herself so grateful for it that, combined with her sense of guilt, it seemed to choke her, and Kait's mechanical inquiry as to whether anyone wanted tea gave her a welcome expedient to step out of the room, ostensibly to help.

 

Conversation had resumed its normal flow when she returned, and, not yet having the nerve to insert herself in the discussions of her brother and mother, Elsian quietly attached herself to her father, although that meant bearing up under the passionless, flat red eyes of her alien new sister.  The one who had so astutely labeled her a spoiled, selfish brat. She hadn't yet quite evolved sufficiently to be grateful to Legate for it, but she was, after all, barely twelve hours into her task of remaking herself.  With luck and fortitude, she would get there.

 

Legate gave Elsian a casually welcoming nod of her head as the younger woman approached, but, perhaps to spare her the scrutiny, didn't draw additional attention to her appearance or allow it to interrupt the question she was putting to her father-in-law. “I've read the official reports, but I've never heard a first-hand account of Druckenwell. Were you on Moff Broysc's ship?”

 

“No,” Adronik began, preparing to warm up to one of his favorite subjects, but any further answer was abruptly cut off as a loud and distinctly percussive boom resounded across the city, rattling the windows in their frames, and causing every soul in Djircelle to shrink with alarm and incredulous fear. The Hyllus' were no exception: Elsian emitted a terrified squeal as her glass tumbled from her hand, shattering on the floor with the sound of a dozen crystals showering over durasteel, and Sessali spun towards the window with an anxious cry of, “What was that?!”

 

Adronik, for once at something like a loss for words, limited his exclamation to simply, “The hell!”

 

Vector was already at the window, reaching for the macrobinoculars he had discretely left there a few days earlier, and Paha was instantly at his side, her sharp gaze riveted on an ominous pillar of smoke billowing blackly from a single skyscraper at the center of the Financial District. Razor-like apprehension and keen-edged adrenaline sang through her aura.

 

“Vector, what is it?” Sessali urged a second time, her voice tight with dread.

 

“I would say,” Paha said tensely, “that that is our cue.”

 

Her words were cryptic to all but Vector. “It's NysBank,” he reported in a flat tone. He passed the macrobinoculars to Paha, who promptly peered through their complex lenses, and turned to see Sessali's startled face. “Mother, we are so sorry...”

 

The shock of the explosion and the sight of the cloud of debris rising into the air were but forerunners to the news that it was her own place of employment that had undergone some terrible disaster. Sessali stood pale and mute at the revelation; Vector could tell from her frozen features that his consolations were falling on ears too stunned to hear them. To Paha, he added, “We can be there in half an hour under ordinary circumstances. Twenty minutes, perhaps. Although if there are security checkpoints...”

 

“We can deal with the checkpoints,” muttered Paha, signalling to him with a mere movement of her head. “But I'm not doing this unarmed.”

 

“Agreed,” replied Vector, already turning to dash out of the room, sparing only an apologetic glance to his mother and sister. Elsian was wringing her hands before her lips, half-clinging to her father, who stood numb and silent, staring down at the black smoke rising from the tower, while Sessali, horror-stricken, had recovered enough to mechanically murmur, hollow-voiced, “NysBank! NysBank! I was supposed to be there today! Oh stars! How? I was supposed to be there – at NysBank! Vector – Vector, where are you going? Legate? Where is he – ? What does this mean?”

 

“It means... it means that I _failed_ ,” Paha answered at length, grimly. She had no further means or leisure to address Elsian's consternation or Sessali's grief, but beneath her breath she cursed herself. “Damn, damn, _damn!”_

 

She must have missed one of The Fund's detonators. She must have installed a spike incorrectly. She must have tripped an alarm on one of the spiders. She must have done _something_ wrong, even if it were nothing more than to not have been fast enough. To not have been good enough. The Star Cabal was defeated and destroyed by her own hand, and yet here it was again, like a ghost from a grave, once more to claim a victory over her. Paha pushed away an unpleasant recollection of the last time she had seen a building appear like this - the bombardment of Coronet City, Corellia - and the memories of what she had endured there.

 

“But – I don't understand,” Elsian cried. “What does this have to do with you? Where did Vector go?”

 

Adronik stirred himself, reminding himself he was, or had been, a soldier of the Empire – a good one, at that – and to stand gaping like a netted fish was hardly befitting. He might have been shocked at the sight of violence erupting mere kilometers from his door when he had long thought he had left his life of war far behind him, but age had not stripped him of old habits and training. There were civilians to protect; he first pulled himself together, then pulled his wife and daughter to his sides, one arm comfortingly around each of them, solid and bolstering despite his usual need for his cane, now forgotten on the floor. He now stood competent and ramrod straight, ready to help or fight or carry out whatever mission he might be given, should he be entrusted with it. And although his first action was to reach for the two civilians who relied on him, his first words were for Paha, whom he had almost instantly recognized as the situational authority.

 

“Then,” Adronik said, disbelief pulling at his words, “you really _did_ have a mission here?”

 

“Did, and still do,” Paha answered promptly, turning as she heard Vector's returning step. He had his electrostaff in one hand, and Paha's case in the other, which he held out to her eager hand. His gaze swept over her aura, and she knew without meeting his eye that he could see the bitter tinge the memories of her torture had infused into her aura. With a shudder of her shoulders, she again pushed the thoughts away, along with her self-recriminations: she could take herself to task for her own incompetence later. Right now, she was an agent of the Empire, and there was work to be done. She dropped the mantle of Legate – the reticent daughter, the new family wallflower, the peacemaker, the negotiator – and pulled on her old identity, Imperial Agent Cipher Nine – the warrior, the assassin, the avenger, the protector. It fit like a much-loved old coat, comfortable and familiar. There was no hiding it in the face of so immediate and close a disaster.  There was no more hiding herself.

 

“Your luggage?” Elsian gasped, surprise driving her voice back towards its old sneering notes. Ignoring her, Paha dropped to her knees, popping the metal clasps of the case with a sharp snapping noise, and she flung up the lid. “That's what was so import- - what the everloving bloody _fuck_ is that?”

 

“Language, dear,” admonished Sessali automatically, although in a tone faint and unconvincing. From the look on her face, it looked rather like she wanted to say much the same thing. Before her eyes, the woman she was just beginning to know and accept as her prodigal son's wife seemed to have changed. This wasn't the woman who didn't know how to separate eggs or dethread poulas. This was a very different woman all together, and Sessali, still trying to wrap her brain around the disaster downtown, a disaster in which she very well could have been caught and killed, had no comprehension to spare for the enigma she called Legate.

 

“This,” Paha said pragmatically, rapidly twirling the barrel between her fingers as she screwed it into the stock, “is a Galactic Solutions Industries X-Fifty-Four-Twenty-Eight Fangwing model takedown modular sniper rifle.”

 

She gave the assembly security bolt a hard and authoritative jerk, slamming it home, and raised the rifle to rapidly line her eye along its sleek length, checking the alignments of the barrel and sights. “It was a little expression of appreciation from a very grateful Hutt for a minor favor I did for him. Not my personal absolute favorite, I admit, but I do like it very much, and I couldn't very well bring something that couldn't be hidden into Djircelle.”

 

“And a nice choice it is," nodded Adronik approvingly. Sessali craned her head to give her husband an inexpressible look of shocked wonder, and he explained to her matter-of-factly, “The modular aspect of it means some sacrifice of accuracy, of course, you see, dear, hey? But for the ease of portability, it can't be beat.”

 

Paha's mouth was momentarily occupied with holding the clip of one end of the shoulder strap between her teeth as she hooked the other to the tiny triangular ring on the rifle stock, so she simply threw him an appreciative nod before spitting the clip into her hand and fastening it to the other attachment point.  “Ready,” she announced to Vector, slinging the rifle across her shoulder as if her two-thirds of her in-laws were not standing bewildered beside her, their eyes stretched in astonishment. She jumped to her feet. “Let's move.”

 

“Stay inside; keep the doors locked. Do not open them to anyone but us. We don't know what's going on, but we feel caution would be best,” Vector instructed rapidly, stooping slightly to deposit a swift peck on his mother's cheek. She looked at him dazedly as he exchanged a rapid, firm-gripped handshake with his father. “We need to borrow the speeder, Dad. We'll be back as soon as we can.”

 

Paha took one glance back over her shoulder. The idea sprang upon her with wild suddenness that here in this room stood all the closest things she had to family that she had in the known galaxy. Vector's birth family, now closer by official tie than her own Chiss people, closer than her adoptive Muriani kin, closer than the Ton clan of the Voss, as close now as the Killik Oroboro nest. Integrating with them had not been easy, nor was it even yet complete, and it had been far from perfect. But wasn't that, she was beginning to understand, the nature of family? An odd cluster of individuals imperfectly thrown together by chance, and held together by love? In her last view of them, they stood together, all differences and disagreements put aside, or ignored, or held at bay, their arms around each other in solidarity, staring after her and Vector, while nearby, Kait tidied up the shards of Elsian's broken glass.

 

“We'll keep you safe,” Paha said softly, almost to herself. “That's a promise.”

 

Halfway out the door on Vector's heels, Paha overheard Adronik's final musings. “I knew I liked that girl of his!  Boy's got as good taste as his old man, hey, Sess?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Home from a lovely and relaxing week of vacation in the mountains - no TV, no internet, no phone. I swam in the lake, knit a sock, played my concertina, and only turned my laptop on to write. It was practically perfect.
> 
> Writing this chapter and the following one was a little weird; I think it was more difficult to write these two chapters than to write the torture chapters in _Drones_ , although I believe my description of the events on Corellia was far more in depth and brutal than what I wrote here. But writing it prompted me to cast my mind back 15 years, to when I was in college and was walking across campus after my first Ecology lab when I noticed a girl standing on the sidewalk sobbing, and then hearing enough of a radio broadcast to prompt me to run the rest of the way back to my dorm room to watch the coverage of the attacks on the World Trade Center on 11 September 2001. I had friends in New York - people I graduated from high school with, who went to college at NYU or Columbia. None of them were injured or killed, but many people I knew knew others who had been lost, or lost loved ones. When I remember watching people jump to their deaths rather than remain trapped within, it was tough to think of appropriate words to describe the scene. 
> 
> In December that same year, I went with friends to NYC to participate in a fencing tournament. We talked about going to the site, but instead we went to the tree in Rockefeller Plaza, done in red, white, and blue lights that year. I took pictures of it, as I did many of the things we walked by, but somewhere I lost the finished roll of film out of my camera bag, and the pictures were lost forever.
> 
> It's a very very strange thought to me that the people who are learning to drive this year aren't old enough to remember the World Trade Center, or to remember seeing the attacks.
> 
> Anyway.
> 
> The Hyllus family finally gets a glimpse of the real Paha and she is not who they thought she was - although Adronik had his suspicions, and Elsian, had she been less wrapped up in her own affairs, would have realized that she had actually learned much more about Paha than had been revealed to anybody else. Less obvious is that the same is true for Vector - his family is finally beginning to see him as he is, instead of as they imagine him, or imagine they want him to be. They know of him as a human diplomat; they have no concept of him as a Killik warrior, and certainly none of him as a crucial means of support to an elite Imperial operative. 
> 
> Vector has been handling his re-introduction to the family rather gingerly, still trying to insulate them from many of the realities of his life that Paha sees as normal (Dawn Herald duties done privately in the garden, or communing with the hive in the seclusion of his room rather than openly in the family parlor, for example) but the emergency downtown means the kid gloves have got to come off, and come off quickly, at least as regarding his and Paha's responsibility to respond to it immediately. They both recognize that there really isn't going to be a way to cover up their need to be there - no excuses of tourism, or opening bank accounts, or visiting a restaurant will work when it's a matter of rushing to a building explosion, so there is simply no point in trying to maintain any prevarications or covers. Doing so would only waste time and raise suspicion anyway. Openly gearing up underscores both the reason for their going, as well as the importance of it (and allows, if I may, for somewhat humorous comments from both Elsian and Sessali). As it one less thing to hide, it is one less thing for Vector to feel awkward about. So, while his mother and sister are going to pieces, he steps back into his own familiar skin, just as Paha has, and, calm and in control, borrows the speeder not from "Father," but from "Dad."
> 
> Yes, the portable sniper rifle is the gift Fa'athra's Twi'Lek secretary Bielle delivered to them back in Chapter 10.


	31. Pieces

One of the troubles with working in an unofficial capacity was, of course, the very same thing as one of its benefits: that unofficial capacity. The officer in charge gave her a blank and bewildered stare as she strode up and demanded a situation report.

 

“I’m just supposed to take your word on this?” he retorted. “That you are – what, some secret military representative?”

 

Paha pursed her lips. “Imperial Intelligence, actually,” she clarified, hoping that word of its recent dissolution and reorganization into Sith Intelligence had not penetrated to this planet, and that matters here were simply too disrupted for any attempts to verify her claim. “I’m sure you understand that I won’t be carrying obvious credentials on me. But I can give you the names of one or two Moffs that will vouch for me – if you want to waste precious time.”

 

The commander hesitated.

 

“Also, I’m standing before you openly armed to the teeth in defiance of the disarmed citizenry edicts,” Paha added practically. “Would I be doing that if I didn’t think I had very good cause to be here?”

 

“A very bold insurgent might,” the officer countered. “To use the chaos as a cover something else. For all we know this is part of a bigger plot.”

 

“Oh, it is,” she assured. “But I’m not here to further it, I’m here to stop it.”

 

The commander’s lip curled derisively. “Doing that good a job of it, are you?”

 

Stars above, this was getting her nothing but wasted time. “You!” she barked at a passing lieutenant. He jumped, his eyes widening like a startled rabbit. “Yes, you. Evacuate downtown.”

 

“Hold on a minute!” blustered the commander. “I’m the one giving the orders here!”

 

“Then do something useful with your authority,” Paha snapped furiously. “Evacuate the other banks. Immediately.”

 

“We’ve given orders for everyone to shelter in place. Given word that it was just an accident; a gas leak. The last thing we need is a panic in the streets,” the commander objected. “Besides, we already have a person of interest.”

 

“Who?” Paha demanded shortly. There was no way, no possible way, that these provincial lawmen would have so quickly cracked The Fund or the Cabal.

 

“You really think I'm going to share that information with you?” the commander asked, pursing his lips mockingly.

 

Paha ground her teeth in fury and frustration, and the chirp of her holo was likely the only thing that saved her molars from cracking. What a welcome sound! she thought fervently as she took a step aside from the commander's intrusive gaze.

 

“I'm here,” she answered, forestalling Keeper with a warning. “And we've got an audience. I'm hoping you might be able to put in a word for me with the local authorities.”

 

“You should have it already,” Keeper nodded, “But for some beastly fussing about. Give me a war world any day; they know how to move things along. The staff on these peaceful planets can't seem to find their heads with both hands and detailed instructions. I take it you can give some clarity to the reports coming across my desk?”

 

“I can,” Paha nodded firmly. “One single detonation, targeted on Nystiera Financial.”

 

“Only one?” Keeper made a notation on a datapad. “That's better than what the initial word indicated. Casualties?”

 

“Still being assessed. I'll say this much, though, it could have been much worse,” Paha looked up at the building. The fires had been suppressed, but the remains of the dusty smoke still billowed lazily across the sky, turning it from blue to a bilious brown, sinister black, and feeble gray. “The lower levels of the building are still intact.  Undamaged, even.”

 

“And the data servers?”

 

“I don't know yet.” Paha gnawed her lip with vexation. “How could I have missed one of his detonators!”

 

“There will be time enough for that sort of thing later,” Keeper ordered. “I need you to focus, agent. What can you tell me about the explosion?”

 

Paha pushed away her frustration, pulling up in her mind's eye the image of how the building appeared to her through the macrobinoculars in the Hyllus living room, and considering the sight of what loomed over her head now. “The device seems to have been designed to do physical damage without burning too much of the building. Torching the place doesn't seem to have been the objective. Ring any bells?”

 

“Not from so meager a description, I'm afraid. We've been analyzing the code and the explosives designs you recovered from the spiders, and narrowed the possibilities down to a short list – a former operative for the Brentaal anarchists, a rogue separatist from Ord Mantell, and a cyber-enhanced girl from Nar Shaddaa all looked promising, but none have panned out. Slicers and bomb-makers alike have signature patterns; it's strange that this one has managed to stay off our radar on both fronts,” Keeper frowned.

 

“Not _that_ strange,” Paha pointed out wryly. The Star Cabal had managed to stay hidden for centuries. What was one terrorist's identity for a group that could accomplish that feat?

 

“Indeed,” Keeper agreed. “I'll clear the path for you; get in there and find out anything you can. Scans of any shrapnel or bomb remnants might give us the clue we need to connect The Fund to a real person. Keeper out.”

 

When Paha returned to the commander, she found a change in his demeanor – one she attributed to the nervous-looking ensign who had been selected as the bearer of this particular message, strongly-worded and bearing official communiqué signatures from individuals with extremely high-ranking titles and even more impressive levels of clearance. That seemed a sufficient explanation for the multitude of jittery glances the young officer shot at the agent in their midst, and as soon as the commander gave a nod, the ensign was off like a shot, eager and relieved to be out of the direct view of a member of Imperial Intelligence.

 

“So you've got friends in high places,” grimaced the commander, less easily intimidated than his underling, “and they tell me I am supposed to trust you. Said I couldn't miss you – and you two would stand out in a crowd much bigger than this one. I'll have you know I _don't_ trust you, and I _don't_ need your help – but orders are orders. What do you want to know?”

 

“You said you had a suspect already,” Paha reminded him without preamble. “Who?”

 

“He worked at this bank. Mr. Alboran Riguda. Door logs show he exhibited some unusual motions starting two or three days ago, including a prolonged sojourn in the server banks. Suspicious enough for you? We’ve already sent officers to arrest him on suspicion of terrorism.” The commander jutted his jaw. “So thanks for everything, agent, but we’ve got this.”

 

“You think – ” Paha broke off, irritated at the commander's dismissive tone, and, nudged by some degree of guilt.  Alboran Riguda might have been a complete prat about space on elevator lifts, but that was hardly an offense worth admission to the Imperial Incarceration Inn.  “He has nothing to do with this. That was me, using _his_ card – ”

 

“You admit it?”

 

“…to try to stop this _before_ something like this happened!” Paha snapped coldly. With icy shards spiking from her aura, she was in no mood to deal with provincial narrowness and political grudges. It would take a somewhat more forceful argument to get the commander to see reason “I have personally disarmed fourteen different incendiary devices in over half a dozen different financial buildings in two days. You have the wrong person.”

 

The commander’s head jerked back in shock. “Fourteen?” he repeated faintly.

 

“Thermal detonators, wired into the server rooms. I _know_ the M.O. Don’t you get it?” Paha exhorted him. “This likely isn’t going to be the only explosion. Empty the banks before your death toll rises! Now!”

 

The commander stared at her for an exceptionally long moment, then shook himself brusquely and turned to his lieutenant. “Give the evacuation order, and keep it under control. It was still a gas leak, and this is a precautionary measure only. I want this done in an _orderly_ fashion.” As the lieutenant sped off, he gave Paha and Vector a flat, sober look. “I hope doing this isn’t playing right into our enemy’s hand, whoever he is.”

 

Was that The Fund’s goal? Empty the banks of all personnel so he could do as he pleased? Paha shook her head, more to herself than in response to the commander. The Fund could _already_ do as he pleased as regards to the computer, security, and financial systems of each one of these buildings. There was nothing to do on-site that he couldn’t accomplish remotely, so it stood to reason that simply emptying the buildings was not the primary purpose of this attack.

 

“You’re wrong, you know,” the commander interrupted her train of speculation.

 

“What?” she asked sharply.

 

“You’re wrong,” the commander repeated. “The explosive device wasn’t in the server banks. Primary analysis puts the point of detonation as two floors higher.”

 

Paha’s mind rapidly began to pursue the branching ramifications of that information, her brows drawing down to creases above the bridge of her nose as she thought. She had assumed she had missed something during their first sweep of the NysBank building. A cursory scan from outside the building had given no indication of additional explosives, but they had been unwilling to risk a second infiltration of the building, particularly on a keycard that had likely been reported as lost long since. The urgency of the moment had staved off a sense of guilt, that she had been in remiss in not checking more thoroughly – but this had been entirely outside their area of search, and the scan, after all, had turned up nothing new. “What was on the twelfth floor?”

 

“Executive offices,” Vector supplied. “Upper management, investment project team leads, that sort of thing.”

 

“And it didn’t touch the databanks?”

 

“Not with the structural failsafes engineered around the server halls, no, it couldn’t have,” the commander stated. “Server access went immediately to lockdown mode .”

 

“Which means what?”

 

“According to the security analysts, no physical access to the mainframe, and all remote connections are severed. Nothing gets in or out, physically or electronically.”

 

Except, Paha mentally added, whatever The Fund decided to do via his spiders. Was that all? Locking down the systems to allow him to dance through as unfettered as he liked? If that were so, why wouldn’t he hit all banks simultaneously? And still, always, the question: who _was_ this guy and where was he hiding? Far off, beyond the barricades at the end of the block, she could see masses of people, huddling along with hurried steps, anxious and homeward bound; she imagined she could hear the shuffling tramp of their feet.

 

“I want to see the site. The ground zero,” Paha announced. “Can we go up?”

 

“We have emergency and investigative personnel up there; the fires there were almost instantly suppressed, so there you won't have any residual heat to deal with,” the commander confirmed. “I don’t know what you think you’ll find, but that’s your problem. The lifts, of course, aren’t working.”

 

\- - - -

 

As her breath puffed ragged in her chest, Paha paused in the stairwell between the seventh and eighth floors.

 

“It doesn’t add up,” she asserted again. “Why would he hit this building, and not any of the others? Everything in his programming pointed to some countdown or a certain trigger, a single strike that would hit every bank and every account at once. They’ll be on alert now.”

 

“Unless he wants that,” Vector suggested. “Put the banks on alert, and yet still pull off his plan under their noses, just to prove he is that good. We suspect he _is_ that good, and further, we suspect he knows it. It must be a terrible temptation to show off.”

 

“Which is at odds with everything we know about how the Star Cabal works,” Paha frowned, starting the climb again.

 

“Even if the Cabal is dead?”

 

“A culture based on seven hundred years of absolute silence isn’t something that a member just throws over. Although... I won't deny that The Fund could succumb to the temptation.”

 

“Is it possible he made a mistake?” Vector hypothesized. “That this attack wasn’t meant to happen? Or at least, not meant to happen _yet_? It would explain why only one bank was struck, and not all of them together.”

 

“Possible? I suppose,” Paha conceded. “Anything is. But someone as meticulous as The Fund? This careful? I don’t believe it. There’s something else at work here. I keep feeling like there is something I am overlooking – if I could figure it out, if I could just see it, just a glimpse,” she prayed fervently, “everything would start to fall into place.”

 

Observation and experience had made Paha’s intuition nearly as trustworthy to Vector as it was to Paha herself. If Paha felt that that one fragment of the puzzle lay at center of The Fund’s detonation, then he would bend all his efforts to uncovering it.

 

The stairwell was hazy with dust and smoke, and the choking air reeked of hot metal and singed upholstery. As they emerged into the remains of the twelfth floor, Vector cataloged the scents as they raked his nostrils, looking over each for clues. Melted duraplas. Shattered chanlon. Chemical accelerants. Dancing fire. Shredded flesh. Iron-scented blood. Powdered bone. Death. Even the drooping rays of the sun shining feebly through the curtains of smoke draped across the gaping wound in the building’s exterior seemed to stink of sorrow and pain. He frowned nauseatedly at the sight of a dismembered arm, its fingers still curled around a melted keycard, laying beside what had once been a chair.

 

“We think this is the bank president,” he murmured, peering closely at smears of distorted ink across the twisted plastic.

 

“I think so is this,” Paha replied, three meters away and looking sickly at a bloodied shoe still fastened neatly to a leg.

 

“Was this it? To destroy the company leadership?” Vector wondered. “He must have been standing close by when the bomb detonated. But it still doesn’t answer why only one.”

 

Paha didn’t respond immediately. She stood in one spot, rotating slowly, letting her eyes take in her surroundings and waiting for her brain to filter out the unnecessarily ghastly sights and leave only those that were informative. At the blast center, too much was fragmented and charred to be immediately distinguishable; even the blood of the bank president had been scorched away to blackness in the brief conflagration that had flared almost concurrently with the initiation of the blast. Desks and chairs lay about her twisted and charred on a carpet of shattered glass; there were lights dangling from broken ceiling struts, their wires hanging limply like they were the haggard blood vessels of some great creature in the throes of a violent passing.

 

Further away, it was curious what still remained intact. A glass vase of flowers sat upright and defiant on the desk of some administrative assistant several meters away. The flowers had burned, brief and bright, but yet held their shape perfectly, down to every detail of the veined leaves, perfectly preserved in ash until the faintest puff of breeze would scatter the delicate petals into dust. Beneath a chair, a pair of light blue shoes stood daintily side-by-side and utterly unmarred by soot or blood, although there was no doubt that their unrecognizable owner lay dead a meter away. And over here was the hand of a droid, a folded cleaning cloth still in its mechanical grasp, as though it had just been raised to wipe a window that no longer existed.

 

These sights, these tiny little stories, poured into Paha’s brain through her eyes, and yet, in the back of her mind kept rising unrelated scenes – namely, the last things she had seen as Vector had closed the door of his parents’ house: her new family, clustered and frightened, and Kait, bent over, tidying the shards of broken glass from the floor. The hand of a droid, clutching a cloth. Kait, sweeping glass. Just a droid, cleaning.

 

Vector saw the entirety of Paha’s aura abruptly shiver and contract, clutching to her body with a harsh, metallic tang, and he heard the sudden stumble of her heart as it pulled all the blood from her extremities, leaving a gray pallor on her horrified face.

 

“Agent?” he inquired anxiously, crossing the rubble on rapid feet. Her head and focus snapped around to meet his darkly apprehensive gaze.

 

“I know who it is!” she gasped. “Hell and stars; I know who it is, and I know how he did it!”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you have any guesses on whodunnit, now would be a good time to make them. I promise I haven't pulled a cheap trick and will introduce new characters in the last chapters of the mystery, destroying the chance of any reader to guess the perpetrator (Lionel Twain's great lament in the classic Clue/Poirot/Miss Marple/Charlie Chan/Sam Spade/Nick and Nora Charles spoof "Murder by Death." You should watch it, if you never have. It has a great cast, with Truman Capote, Peter Sellers, Peter Falk, and Sir Alec Guinness (Yes, Obi-Wan Kenobi), who plays the blind butler. It's also got James Cromwell in one of his first roles, and Maggie Smith - The Dowager Countess of "Downton Abbey"/Professor McGonagall of "Harry Potter" fame and I love her in whatever role she's in. If you're familiar with classic mystery tropes, you'll enjoy it.)
> 
> The cyber-enhanced girl that Keeper references in her list of potential suspects is a nod to Mako from the Bounty Hunter story-line.


	32. The Spiral Tightens

“It’s _who_?” Vector, incredulous, called ahead to Paha as they plunged down the stairs, their footsteps echoing in the column of the stairwell like percussive thunder through the murky clouds of dust and airborne ash.

 

“The cleaning service!” Paha repeated, pulling up on the landing so quickly that he nearly bowled her over. He caught his footing with a stumble, grabbing her partly to steady himself, and partly to keep her from racing away again before she finished explaining.

 

“One human, an army of droids programmed into perfect servility, and free access to almost every corridor and office in every financial establishment in Djircelle,” she declared breathlessly, nearly tripping over her rapid words as they tumbled out urgently. “It's the damned janitor!”

 

“The man who walked in on our embrace in the conference room? _That_ janitor?” Vector asked. The repetition of her assertion and the meager evidence had barely chipped at his disbelief. He was quick to follow as Paha darted down the next flight of stairs, and his recollection cast a dubious eye over his mental image of the maintenance man who commanded a fleet of droids: he remembered first the hands, bearing stubby, thick fingers that seemed made for manual labor rather than adroit manipulations of computers and explosives, and only second thought of the face, droop-eyed and slack-jowled, with close-set eyes that, at the time, had seemed stupidly titillated at the scene he had apparently interrupted. All, if Paha was correct, a carefully crafted veneer of bovine complacency over the shrewd truth. “We can hardly imagine anyone who looks less likely to be a criminal mastermind.”

 

“All the more reason it’s likely to be so,” Paha reasoned. “What the Cabal cannot shroud completely, it hides in plain sight. Every institution outsourcing their petty chores to the same company – a low-priced contract, as there is only one single employee; the only expenses are for the maintenance of the droids. And really, who actually notices the cleaning crew? When every droid has the same minimal programming, the same empty interactions, with no personality, who would bother to even give them a second glance? And by extension, who would ever notice their master?”

 

She burst out of the stairwell, shoving the door roughly aside, and charged out to where the commander stood in intense conference with a few of his subordinate officers.

 

“Commander,” Paha interrupted without ceremony, ignoring the angry glare of the captain she had cut off. “You need to send multiple squads to each of the financial institutions; do a sweep. Any droid belonging to the cleaning company – hell, I don’t even know the name! – any of the cleaner droids, if they are there, must be destroyed.”

 

“What?” The commander stared at her blankly.

 

“Stars above, did I stutter?” Paha demanded, furious. “The cleaning crew droids! It's how NysBank was bombed – get your men on it; every other corporate office in Djircelle.”

 

“But where are you going?” the commander asked as Paha stalked past him, her impatience to be gone permitting her no further time to watch her orders being carried out.

 

She spun around to answer, hardly stopping as her feet still carried her along, moving her inexorably towards the speeder and her confrontation with The Fund. “To stop the bastard that did this from doing it again. What do you think?” she snapped. “Get moving, commander. I don't have time to stay here and hold your hand!”

 

“The Starshine Service,” Vector said a moment later, as she turned back to him. “We have been thinking, and we recall that was the name on his uniform, outside the conference room.”

 

“Well, I'm convinced,” Paha answered. “If he could come up with a name as bad as that for a maintenance company, then that fits with all the awful pseudonyms he came up with for his dummy accounts.”

 

“We still cannot believe we were face to face with him,” Vector marvelled. “And we did not see!”

 

“How could you have?” Paha inquired practically as she pulled out her holo. “We saw what we were expected to see. It's how the Cabal stayed alive for so long.” The holo flared to life in her hand.

 

“That was quick,” greeted Keeper. “Does that mean you have something for me?”

 

“I need everything there is to know about the Starshine Service,” Paha said urgently. “It's a cleaning company.”

 

“Not what I expected, I admit,” Keeper said, her hands moving over a console just out of sight. “But I'm pulling up our records now. Founded about fifteen years ago, on Djircelle. The owner is... that's odd. No name listed.”

 

“It's another of the Cabal's fronts, so don't waste too much time on it,” Paha replied. “Do you have an address? It's probably a warehouse, for storing droids – cleaning droids that can carry explosives into any corporate office on Djircelle on whatever day of the week they like.”

 

Keeper exhaled through parted lips, a noise just shy of a whistle. “That _is_ devious,” she observed as she pulled up the information. “Once his company had been vetted, its unlikely his droids would have to undergo intense security scans every day to enter the building. I'm sending you the coordinates now. Be careful, agent. I don't think this has been a mistake.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“I think he's luring you out. This has trap written all over it.”

 

“Then more fool him,” Paha answered succinctly. “I'll be in touch, Keeper.”

 

\- - - -

 

There was absolutely nothing remarkable about the exterior of the Starshine Service cleaning company warehouse and office. It looked much like every other warehouse on the block: a squat, ordinary, square-built structure of meager description and solid construction, with a simple sign beside the main door. Still, Paha approached with caution, and took the added expedient of shooting out the security cameras set to sweep their mechanical gaze across the buildings surroundings are regular intervals. Yes, doing so meant The Fund would know they were outside – but being caught on a holocam would tell him the same thing, and give him the added information of exactly where they were and what they were doing, as well. That much she could, at least, keep secret.

 

The door was unlocked, and the main office was empty. There wasn't even a protocol servant to greet visitors or potential clients.

 

“We expect The Fund has all the clients he requires,” Vector whispered back when Paha commented on it.

 

“It's strange, though,” Paha fretted in a low voice as they crept along the corridors, “I would have thought we would have run into _someone_ by now.”

 

And yet the short halls remained unnervingly empty as they slipped swiftly past mundane storage closets and boring cabinets of tools and cast-off parts. Fretfully, Paha began to worry that their efforts came too late – that while they wasted their time here in these vacant pursuits, The Fund's army was at this moment systematically and brutally dismantling the entirety of the Djircelle downtown district. A trap, Keeper had cautioned – not for them, but for the rest of the city.

 

“Locked,” murmured Vector, noting the red bar that glowed dully from a fingerprint-smudged panel beside the next door.

 

“And locked well,” Paha answered softly as her first two attempts at an override were fruitless. Undeterred, she wedged the edge of her vibroblade under the panel's dented rim and pried it off the wall, letting it dangle from a clustered jumble of wires and optical cables. Her fingers flitted rapidly through the rat's nest, tracing connections until she drew forth one, cut it with a swift jerk of the knife, and held the exposed end against the charged blade.

 

“Nice trick,” Vector nodded.

 

“Old trick,” Paha replied, applying her shoulder to the sliding door. The lock had been disengaged, but the power to the servos had gone with it. “To be honest, I wasn't sure it would still work.”

 

Bracing her legs against the door frame, she heaved against the barrier; Vector slid his hands into the emerging gap and gripped the door edge directly, yanking until there was just enough of a space for them to slip through.

 

They emerged into a vast room, two stories high and lit poorly by a meager assortment of guttering bulbs that scarcely illuminated the ceiling in which they were sunk. Across the scratched metal floor, droids stood shoulder-to-shoulder, gray and featureless, dark and motionless, drooping with a sort of unnerving flaccidity in a mockery of a tired human stance. Paha's gaze flicked down the rows, rapidly assessing the sight without allowing herself to be entranced by the curious pattern of hundreds of droids all identical and perfectly aligned.

 

Hundreds? Each droid had a footprint of maybe half a meter on a side, with almost no dead space in between, and a barely-visible large grid on the floor indicated that they were grouped into phalanxes fifteen droids across and eight rows deep, allowing for narrow access corridors between each row. A hundred and twenty droids, then, in 60 square meters, and six phalanxes to the far wall of the warehouse made seven hundred twenty droids in just the foremost division. And how deep did the warehouse go? Paha couldn't tell; she gave up the calculation. It was enough to know that, far from mere hundreds, The Fund's droids numbered in the _thousands_.

 

More than they could handle as just themselves, at any rate.

 

For now, the droids, an invasion force built under the very noses of the people they were constructed to serve, stood silent and still, an army in preternatural slumber which could awaken at any time.

 

“There must be a kill switch,” Paha reasoned softly. “Something to prevent their activation, something to block a command from wherever The Fund is hiding, something that will keep them inert.”

 

“Something shines,” Vector observed, staring through the eerie half-light towards the shrouded gloom deep within the murky facility. “And not with the radiance of the stars, no matter what The Fund calls this place. It smells of electrons.”

 

“A computer, I think,” Paha suggested, quietly gliding around the stationary corps as her eyes, adjusting more to the feeble light, trained on the glow Vector had already spied. She had shouldered her rifle while working on the door, and had left it there as she stared down the rows of machines, but she took the precaution now of slinging it down in to her arms, the butt of its stock resting against its accustomed spot on her shoulder, at the ready in response to some tingling suspicion that there was more here to find than just an old computer.

 

Her instincts served her well. The dingy, bluish glimmer spat out by the wide screen haloed a figure, garish and grotesque – but not, she saw with disappointment, her hoped-for target. This was but another droid, a facsimile of a man, with a smoothness to its chassis and motions that reminded her uncomfortably of Scorpio. Wasn't it foolish to not have guessed that the Cabal would have tried to create a copy of the most advanced artificial intelligence the galaxy had ever seen? One perhaps less self-directed, less prone to independence, more amenable to obedience to his Cabal masters.

 

But the disturbance Paha felt at seeing this fraternal twin of Scorpio paled at the horror that surged up in her breast, bolting through her aura in a jagged lightning strike that left her blood surging in her ears, when it cocked its head at her and spoke.

 

“Oh, Cipher,” the droid jeered in a voice that was unmistakably Hunter's. “This is like old times, isn't it?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Both a big reveal AND a cliffhanger in this chapter! Dun-dun-dun! (I admit I always liked Alec Baldwin's exclamation of, "It's the damn cook!" in _The Hunt for Red October_ , so I'll attribute the line here, although the job titles have been swapped out.) Also, I always mentally hear "And really, who notices the cleaning crew?" in Morgan Freeman's voice, thanks to _The Shawshank Redemption_ and Andy Dufresne's borrowed shoes.
> 
> Oh yes, I did the math for the warehouse. 15 droids in a row per phalanx, with 6 phalanxes across makes 90 droids across the warehouse. At half a meter of space side-by-side, that comes out to 45 meters, or just under 150 feet across, which is a respectable size for a warehouse, particularly when adding some room around the perimeter for moving around.
> 
> If the droid storage were as many phalanxes deep as across (6), at 8 rows per phalanx, that makes a total of 4,320 droids in a space 45 meters wide by 48 meters deep (2,160 square meters, that is). That could actually be considered a somewhat small warehouse. By comparison, a local convention center (I tried to find dimensions for a typical BJs Wholesale Club or other large store, but didn't find any, probably because I didn't look THAT hard) has a 24,000 square foot ballroom, which would be over 7200 square meters: over three times more space than my example, whch would translate to holding some 12,000 droids. I left the actual dimensions and numbers vague, however, because all that's really important is: it's a hella damn lotta droids.


	33. Sounds of Past and Present

“But you look like you're not enjoying this, our little reunion,” the droid smirked in Hunter's dry and mocking tones. “Not even a hello? A 'nice to see you?' I'm hurt, Cipher, really. We always were such friends.”

 

Paha, locked in stupefaction, stared, her face set in stone, and made no reply. Vector eyed her aura, flailing frenetically as it attempted to grip what was before her, with wary concern. She was choking on her surprise and her breath, clogging her throat and smothering her as she struggled to push the first down and bring the second up. Vector tightened his fingers around the haft of his electrostaff, and waited for the signal to strike, although he was not altogether certain if it would come.

  
“Well, be that as it may, I'm still glad to see _you_. I've missed you – or Hunter did, anyway.” The droid tilted its head. “I'm sure you must be wondering about all this. Why I'm here and how?”

 

“Not really,” Vector answered flatly when he saw that Paha was as yet ill-equipped to reply. His response seemed to draw Paha from her paralysis, and he saw her finger move slightly against the stock of her rifle, drifting towards the trigger. The signal, he knew then, would come.

 

“And your pet at your heels, even.” The sardonic humor was as familiar as it was unwelcome. “It really is like nothing has even changed.”

 

“Oh, it's changed, all right,” Paha broke her silence at last. “The real Hunter was human flesh and human blood, and, moreover, is dead. Whatever you've been programmed to think you are, you're not Hunter. That's a damned big difference.”

 

“You've got me there, Cipher,” replied the droid. “But did you really think that that was all for the Cabal? That our contingency plans wouldn't have contingency plans? That there wouldn't be backups and redundancies?”

 

“I'll agree to that,” Paha snipped. “You are certainly redundant. If you think you're Hunter's replacement, you should already know that I'm smart enough not to need the exposition. I get it. Hunter uploaded everything he did, everything he knew, to the Cabal's databases, and they programmed you, in a shell copied from Scorpio. Does that hit just about all the salient points?”

 

“Most of them. Hunter was right about you.” The droid's voice perfectly mimicked the tones, half-admiring and half-ridiculing, that Hunter used to employ. “He was always right about you. You challenged him like no other could.”

 

“I kicked his ass like no other could, too,” Paha answered without hesitation. If the droid's chassis had been flexible enough, Paha would have sworn it would have smiled back at her – that aloof, smug grin of amused superiority that she so loathed. “And you know I beat Scorpio, too.”

 

“Ah, but both together? Hunter's cunning in Scorpio's indestructable body?” the droid inquired. Belatedly, Paha noticed a thin cable dangling from the back of the droid's neck to the large console behind it, and she became simultaneously aware of a chorus of mechanical hums.

 

“Agent,” Vector said, low and warningly. He was not looking at her, nor even at the droid; his attention was fixed on the way they had come, through the orderly rows and columns of droids created for murderous purpose. Paha risked flicking her eyes that direction for the briefest fraction of a second, confirming what her ears had caught first. Hunter's droid had activated The Fund's army. Vector could see the electricity of life dancing through their mechanical muscles and wiry circulatry systems, a spark that smelled perversely of existence and electrons, surging through metal tissues that had just seconds before been dead. Thousands of droids programmed by the Cabal, armed with who knew what hidden weaponry. There was a shuffling sound as the forerunners, far at the other end of the warehouse, took their first ominous steps towards the civilians of Jurio.

 

“We cannot possibly stop them all,” Vector murmured beside her ear. It was true. Two against two times two thousand, or more? They would be torn apart.

 

“Don't worry,” the droid said with all of Hunter's old effrontery. “You won't have to fight them. They won't even attack you; you're not one of their mission objectives. Sorry, Cipher – you're just not that important after all.”

 

“Downtown Djircelle,” Paha murmured quietly. From somewhere far off, she could hear a motor grinding open a large bay door out which would pass this terrible force.

 

“I was never able to decide if your ability to always guess right was admirable or annoying,” the droid confirmed her supposition with a shake of its metal head. “Equal shares of both, I would say.”

 

Paha's finger twitched a millimeter closer to the trigger. “Djircelle's forces are already aware of what's coming. They'll be ready.”

 

“The city forces couldn't boil an anthill without burning their own feet. They don't know what they're facing. Neither do you; you'd be a fool to let them face it if you did,” the droid admonished. “It didn't have to be this way. It wouldn't have been, but that you forced our hand when you started messing with The Fund's spiders. You could have just left them; just a few simple financial transactions when the time was right, and both the Imperial and the Republic economy would be emptied to the dregs.”

 

The droid made a noise that sounded like a rueful sigh. “It's because of you, Cipher. It's going to be a bloodbath, and you're the one who made it possible. The Cabal owes you a debt.”

 

“Not if I stop you,” Paha vowed. “Hunter or Scorpio, it doesn't matter. I've defeated you both before, and I'll do it again. You're not Hunter, and you're not Scorpio. You're nothing but a imitation. A cheap copy. A _fraud_.”

 

Hunter had had arrogance in abundance, and Scorpio's overriding trait was her unflagging belief in her own superiority. This droid, if faithful to the heritage of his unlikely parents, would not be able to let the insult pass, and if he could not, then that was information and an advantage in her own pocket. Behind her, the army of droids began a steady and distant rhythmic clamping of metal feet that echoed through the warehouse as they marched away. If she could get past the droid, if she or Vector could reach the console, then there was a chance the army could be halted before it tore apart the Empire's jewel of the sector. Tensely she waited for the droid's response.

 

“Can I be a fraud when I embody only the best parts of the originals?” the droid answered smugly.

 

 _Fuck_ , Paha thought to herself. She hated the thought that she would have to give Hunter the credit of having sufficient self-awareness to know his own – she caught and corrected herself – _her_ own failings. But Paha was not without her own resources, and those resources included more-or-less carte blanche to summon reinforcements running the gamut of troops to orbital strikes.

 

“I'm sure you've already thought of calling your witless Keeper,” the droid interrupted her thought. “But with half her brain having already leaked out her ears, I doubt she's in much of a position to help.”

 

 _Bloody hell AND fuck,_ Paha amended her earlier oath. Hunter knew her moves, knew her tactics, knew how she thought and how she acted, what she prioritized and what she held dear. She was starting to feel the limits on her actions, focusing her course down to but one path: destroy the droid, use the console to do whatever she could to override the commands instilled in the droid army, steadily stomping out the bay door and down the road towards the city center, then salvage whatever was left standing of Djircelle.

 

“And I'm sure right now you're plotting your path to victory,” the droid continued. “Don't think I'll make it easy for you. You should –”

 

“Where's The Fund?” Paha demanded, hoping the abrupt change would throw the droid onto another scent. “He must be the one who programmed you; left you here as his lackey while he hides.”

 

“Oh, he's not hiding,” said the droid, and something in its borrowed voice made a loathsome shiver skitter over Paha's soul. “It's what I was about to explain. He's in plain sight, just not here. Right about now, he should be knocking on the door –” A sinister dark light gleamed in the soulless caverns of the droid's eyes as its dead stare shifted to lock onto Vector's own black gaze. “ – of Homestead Hyllus.”

 

“They'll never open the door,” Vector asserted hoarsely, immediately.

 

“Won't they, though?” the droid retorted with a ghastly mechanical chortle. “'Stay inside,'” the droid quoted, and as it spoke, the droid's programmed voice changed. Paha felt the hair on her arms rise and a gaping hole open within her chest, as though her soul had fainted out of its throne, as the sound stabbed appallingly into her ears. The words were, tone for tone, an exact replica of Vector's voice. “'Keep the doors locked. Do not open them to anyone but us.'”

 

Involuntarily, Paha glanced at Vector. Every healthy color had abandoned his face, leaving him a hideous shade of green-grey, and he wavered as though he would fall where he stood. She could see every angle of him outlined in terror; the sinews of his neck rigid with horror.

 

“Oh, Father,” the droid continued in Vector's voice with a sickening snigger, an evil sound Vector himself would never have made, “please let us in! It's your son, Moth-”

 

The remainder of the word was cut off as Paha, who had had far more than enough, pulled the trigger, emptying bolt after bolt into the droid's face as though she would shoot its metal mouth straight off. The droid jerked and stumbled back, then righted itself and lurched towards her, its jaw dangling in the semblence of a hideous leering grin. But the droid did not need a mouth to form its words; the mouth slot was but a bit of mimicry, a construct to create an illusion, like so much of the Cabal's work was.

 

“You'll have to do better than that, Agent,” the droid sneered, raising menacing hands that threw deadly sparks from their fingers.

 

“Don't worry, I will,” Paha huffed beneath her breath, dodging aside from the droid's blow and drawing her own vibroblade. Her swing connected, but brought her within range of the droid's reach, and grabbed her arm in the vise of its hand and flung her down, delivering a jolt of electricity through her that made her bones rattle against each other and left her seeing a vibrant confetti of light dancing through the air. She had no idea if she had cried out, but before she had buried her blade again in the droid's formidably built framework, there was a whistling sound above her head, and Vector's vibrostaff came down with brutal force against the droid's neck, half severing it from the body.

 

And yet still the droid fought gamely on, with all the resilience of Scorpio and all the underhandedness of Hunter, its head lolling over its shoulder ghoulishly. Paha, still on the floor, kicked out at the hand that held her imprisoned, worming her arm out of the loosened grip, and grabbed the sidearm in the holster on her thigh. Without even bothering to draw it, she pulled the trigger, firing pointblank into the droid's chest as Vector bludgeoned it again. The exposed neck was vulnerable; Paha made a desperate scramble to plunge her vibroblade straight down into the nest of wires and released the charge, slamming electricity through every system and junction of the mutilated droid. With a faint whirr of failing servos, it slumped and lay still.

 

Paha looked up at Vector immediately as he staggered back, his face still ashen and drawn; only Paha's danger had pulled him from his stupor. His unfocused glances bounced off the surrounding surfaces, seeing nothing, or what he saw, he did not register; his mouth moved faintly.

 

“Vector!” Paha said urgently, scrambling up from the floor.

 

“...not possible,” he was saying. “We've been careful...”

 

“Vector, love, listen – ”

 

“So careful; we always used the disguises –”

 

“Vector – ” Paha repeated more insistantly, clutching at his arm and yet knowing he was still not hearing her.

 

“ – then how...?”

 

“Vector!” Paha clasped his face between her hands and forced his wandering gaze focus on hers. He blinked several times, and some hint of color tinted the awful pallor of his cheeks.

 

“Paha,” he whispered, sounding lost. “He's gone after our family. The Cabal has gone after our family...”

 

“I know, love, I know,” she said hastily, “but there is still time. We can stop him. We can. We will. You heard him; the droid army isn't programmed to attack us. We can pass right by them. We won't let them die.”

 

He stared at her, uncomprehending, his brain struggling to sort through all that was tearing at him: the shock that his first family – chronologically speaking – was facing death at this moment, and his second family – the Killiks – were sending him urgent messages of concern, buzzing choruses of equal parts alarm and support, while his third family – this single woman named Paha – vowed that she would make everything well.

 

And he believed her. How she would do it – how he would help her to do it – he had no idea. But she had promised them she would keep them safe; yes, he now recalled she had said that as they left – and now she had sworn it again, and he trusted to that as he had before, and as he would again. Vector took a slow gasp of air, air that tasted like oil and villainy, and nodded to his wife. She would need his help to do this – so he had better get himself to a place where he could give it.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp, the shit's really starting to hit the proverbial fan now, isn't it? ;-)
> 
> I haven't much to share for notes for this chapter, but that might be because there is a piece of chocolate pudding pie in the next room with my name (figuratively) on it. I mean, author chat blocks are fun, but - PIE. _Chocolate_ pie.


	34. Promises, Promises

Reducing the Cabal's droid into a battered pile of twisted metal was a victory, but a small one in the grand face of what surrounded them. It felt as though the Star Cabal, in the throes of its rigor mortis, had clenched down hard on all that Paha had touched, with she and Vector bound tightest of all.  

 

Briefly, Paha considered that it could be all a ruse. A distraction, and not a very adept one, at that, to pull their attention away from downtown Djircelle and the lethal army that was converging on it - that might in a few seconds' time be converging on the unprotected citizens still hurrying to evacuate the financial district.  Paha's holo was in her hand, already automatically dialing, and she waited to close the connection for a long time, well beyond the time it would take for an answer, if one were coming.  Given the state of the city, and the state that they had left the Hyllus household in, Adronik or Sessali would have answered immediately, had they been able to.  In these circumstances, a call would not have gone simply ignored.  Her worried eyes met Vector's.

 

“We still don't understand how,” Vector shook his head in a despairing motion as he scraped together his scattered wits. “It was our voice; it was the tone in which we sing our songs and with which we join the chorus – we don't understand how!”

 

Paha hadn't understood either, for a moment, but she suddenly blurted, “How long has Kait served your parents?”

 

In bewilderment, Vector mentally ran through all he could recall of letters, sent and read years ago, and as he belatedly began to comprehend Paha's suspicion, a heavy dread pulled weightily at his enervated muscles. “We don't know – many years. She has always been a great help to Mother...”

 

“But where did Kait come from?” Paha asked, pursuing the logical thread relentlessly. “Who made her? Who programmed her? She was there, in the room, picking up Elsian's glass.”

 

“Oh, heralds,” Vector breathed, coughing as he could no longer bar a sharp sensation of gagging from leaping into his throat.” He pressed his palms to his brows, vainly, to quell the tremor in his limbs. “Everything we said – Everything we did! All of it, straight back to The Fund! It was the trap Keeper suspected, and we sprang into it! Ah, there is a nova tearing our brain!”

 

Hastily, Paha, alarmed at his reaction, clutched his arm. “We couldn't have known then, Vector! We couldn't have guessed!”

 

“We _could_ have guessed,” he reasoned furiously. “We knew The Fund used droids! Why would we not have suspected our own?”

 

Paha's cerulean cheeks paled and she slowly slipped her fingers from the grasp she had on him. It had been on her order that they had dropped their cover in front of the family, and in front of the family droid. As far as she could tell, her locked case had been left undisturbed since Kait had first set it down in her room on the night of their arrival. The droid hadn't snooped. Which, she realized with a churn of her stomach, made this her own fault. She floundered; she could say nothing, but her aura, wracked with sour-stinking guilt and shame, spoke volumes to one who could read it.

 

With a quick motion, he grabbed the hands she was still pulling away from him. “This,” he said urgently, “this is The Fund's fault. It is the Cabal who is culpable, not you. We're not blaming you.”

 

“That makes one of us,” Paha replied in a low, dull voice, not looking him in the face. He was too distraught to correct her, and an instant later, she squared her shoulders and raised her head. There was nothing that self-pity offered that would help. “For what its worth, I don't think this was a willful betrayal; Kait was activated, just as every other droid in Djircelle has been. All she had to do was watch, record, and send. She might not even have known she was doing it. But it doesn't matter, does it? It just matters that it happened.”

 

It wasn't guilt, the realization flashed through Vector's mind. At least, not only guilt alone. Paha was in the unique position of knowing exactly what had been done to Kait. No one ever gave a second thought to programming a droid, wiping it, reprogramming it, and repeating the process, again and again. No one, that is, except someone who had gone through it themselves, as Paha had. Someone who had had their behavior overridden by a foreign bit of programming. Was it empathy, that unnamed shade that mingled with all her more piquant emotions that now spun dizzily through her aura? Empathy! For a _droid_. A semi-sentient household appliance.

 

But Kait wasn't, and he knew it. Kait was a trusted member of the Hyllus household, and had been so for years. Toovee, for all the number of times Paha and Dr. Lokin reset and reprogrammed the dossier of his culinary skills, had yet consistently retained the slightly-fretful officiousness that he had been granted by his programmer; no one had ever moved to overwrite the fundamentals of his personality. While the vast bulk of Vector's agony was for what might be this moment unfolding at home, some fragment of him, warming to the blood kin of his birth, had felt personally hurt at Kait's treason, as though the droid should have been able to disobey the program that The Fund had activated within her. Paha had done so, but understood all too well how Kait couldn't. And if Vector could feel within him the stab of Kait's treachery, why should Paha not feel her empathy for the same?

 

The steady beating of tromping mechanical feet, striding away in an unnaturally even roll of thunder, made the warehouse floor tremble beneath them and roused him from his contemplation, thoughts that had formed in paltry fractions of time, yet made him conscious of the seconds wasted.

 

“The army.” Vector passed a hand over his eyes. “We must stop the army.”

 

Paha had already flown to the console, her fingers streaking over the controls as she dug through directories and subprograms, command codes and files. She made a short hissing sound beneath her breath and shook her head with a frustrated scowl as she found pathway after pathway blocked. The panel was smooth and cool to the touch, warmed faintly here or there by the glow of a lighted display; but what she thought she felt beneath her hands were the slick edges of the minutes as they slipped away from her, second by second and drop by drop, each one bringing all of Djircelle inexorably closer to disaster.

 

 _Dammit_ , she swore silently. _Come on, Fennec, get it together - !_ This couldn't, she prayed in desperation, this truly couldn't be that dreaded day of her worst imaginings, the day when all her failures came back to her, to smile condescendingly at her weakness, her incompetence, her inability to be anything but the best - no, when those fears distracted her from being anything but her best -

 

“Maybe there's another way,” she said abruptly, dropping to the floor and worming on her back under the console. She yanked a panel loose and began tugging at the wires that were hidden within.

 

“Your vibroblade?” Vector guessed, thinking of her crude but effective handling of the locked door.

 

“Almost,” Paha answered. She had seen enough of the system to recognize that it was well-protected from any simple surge; overloading the console, too, would not necessarily deter the droids from their merciless goals, and might serve to destroy the only possible means of shutting them down short of brute force and piecemeal destruction. But there were some background processes on the console that were not invulnerable, and all she needed was a crack she could wedge open with just a little bit of extra juice, just like the door. She stripped a wire bare and wrapped it around the metal of her blade, then picked up her holo.

 

“Keeper, are you there?” she asked.

 

“We've been monitoring downtown.” The response was immediate. “We diverted a nearby troop transport to send ground support to central Djircelle, but it's going to take time for it to arrive. You just need to hold out a little longer.”

 

“Does that take into account an additional army of several thousand droids?”

 

Keeper blinked once. “How many is 'several?'”

 

“In a word? _Several_.” Paha grimaced slightly. “Is Three there? I've got a job for him.”

 

“I'm here, Agent,” Three's voice chimed in.

 

“I'm patching my holo in to the console that controls the droid army, and given the system enough of a voltage variance that you should be able to work your way through the systems. The encryptions are beyond me, and there isn't time for you to walk me through it. If you can shut them down before they start ripping the city apart, I'd be grateful for it.”

 

“On it, Cipher.” The blue image of the Watcher flickered as he bent to his console, and Keeper took over the control again.

 

“Do you have a lead on The Fund?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Then get to it. Good luck, Agent.”

 

Paha, scooting out from beneath the console, made a little noise of worry as she grasped Vector's waiting hand and rose to her feet.

 

“It's the only thing I could think to do,” she fretted apologetically.

 

“Three will do everything he can, we know,” Vector replied as he followed her tensely to the door. He glanced back at the console behind them, where Paha had left both her vibroblade and her holo.

 

Seeing his backward glance, Paha shook her head with an irritable shrug. “It can't be helped.”

 

The last lines of the droid army were disappearing down the empty streets, single-mindedly heading to join their manufactured brethren in combat, and far off, slender plumes of smoke rose into the air above downtown Djircelle. Were people dying? Were they, right now, screaming their last as they saw the approach of death? She had heard those screams before – the terrible choir of the condemned, raising their voices in their last question of _why?_ before the end claimed them. The memory made her feel nauseated, and the sickness made her angry, a primal white-hot burn of fury that pushed her into motion.

 

“Let's move.”

 

To her great surprise, Vector hesitated; he wasn't looking at her. His black eyes were fixed on the signs of chaos in the city, and his ears were trained on the distant sounds of marching droids and firing guns.

 

“Vector – ?”

 

It took him a moment, but he turned and looked at her, anguish tightening the lines around his eyes. While Paha had been working on the console and contacting her superiors, he'd had the time to listen to the distant supporting ensemble of Killik voices within him, to take comfort from their concern and strength from their songs. Time, as well, to look at their situation from a platform of logic as well as his personal ethos. When viewed rationally, when viewed from the standpoint of humanitarian philosophy, their choices dwindled to very few. Both reason and philosophy pointed, for once, in the selfsame direction.

 

“Downtown,” was all he said. She looked at him blankly, and made a faint and confused movement of her head.

 

“They need us downtown,” he clarified, and at that, she understood. Hard on the heels of the comprehension came the wish that she hadn't understood it at all, that she might understand but refuse it, to reject the sacrifice, to revolt against his decision. Her objection was immediate.

 

“But your parents! – your sister – they need us, too!”

 

In the balance, there was Adronik, Sessali, Elsian, and The Fund on one side, while the other held the army of droids and tens of thousands of civilians on the verge of certain death. With a cold shudder, she felt how she had been here before. Oh, yes, this was familiar; hideously, horribly familiar! How Darth Jadus would have laughed at her! Even now, the buzzing in her ears, throbbing with the rapid pulse of her heart, seemed to twist itself into the nauseating sound of his voice, taunting her into making a choice that damned her either way.

 

Vector looked at her with an expression that broke her heart. “Paha,” he pleaded softly, with resignation. “We must save the city.”

 

“Aren't they part of the city, too?” she demanded rhetorically.

 

He could make no answer; his sorrow choked him, but in his eyes, she could read his thoughts plain: _We must give them up for lost. Please, let us go now, while there is still time to rescue Djircelle, so that our sacrifice is not made futilely!_

 

“No!” she flared. “I will not abandon your family! _Our_ family! And allow The Fund to escape, simultaneously? No, Vector, I won't do it!”

 

“Paha,” he mumbled brokenly, “You swore an oath to the Empire.”

 

“I swore an oath to _you_!” she cried, the words tearing from her, and a scorched feeling behind her eyes.

 

He said nothing; his face frozen into a fragile veneer of acceptance over the most abject grief. How could she accept this, the gift of this terrible choice he had made so that she would not have to be the one to do it? Every fiber of her being rebelled, pushing the idea away with violent vigor; how, how could he ask her to receive this? She clapped her hands to her face, burying all her features in her palms like a child frightened of a storytale monster, and gasped a shuddering breath, desperately trying to force herself into some semblance of orderly thought. Again and again, her efforts were interrupted by the memories of Eradication Day.

 

But this was _not_ Eradication Day - she ground her teeth together - and while Darth Jadus' sadistic choice damned her no matter which she selected, now instead she'd be damned if she'd let it happen again! There were similarities, to be sure – a clear order from Intelligence, unarmed civilians in imminent peril, and a madman to be stopped – but there were differences, too. She had vowed she'd be better than what she had been on that day, and wasn't she exactly that now? And on Eradication Day, she had no support but Kaliyo. Now, she had Vector, she had enough standing among her secret allies in Intelligence to make demands, she had military reinforcements already on their way and armed local soldiers already fighting on her order and her behalf.

 

Now, she had people she personally cared about in the direct path of lethal danger. Didn't that count for something? Didn't that mean anything to her? What reason, what possible reason, could there be that she could not uphold both her oath to the Empire and her oath to Vector together?

 

Paha lifted her face from her hands; her vermilion eyes burned a look of valiant red resolve.

 

“I made a promise,” she said, and the even, strong tone of her voice struck a chord of hope within Vector that he told himself he should not feel. It had taken all his strength to voice his decision; how could he object to hers, when she was doing what he most wanted her to do? Like a great bell, the conviction and endurance of her choice rang in harmony with the chorus that sustained him, the far-off voices of his Killik brethren that had been, for some minutes now, the only thing that he held him upright.

 

Seconds later, the warehouse and his decision receded behind them as Paha raced their speeder up the hills surrounding Djircelle.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It can be tough to juggle through-lines in a story, not just the narrative ones, but the thematic ones, too - and some might agree that the thematic ones are certainly the more difficult of the two!  But I'm rather pleased with what I was able to work into this chapter: hearkening back to the Agent brainwashing, Darth Jadus and the decision to save Imperial civilians versus securing his capture, how that has driven her semi-obsession to be the best and to fear any failure that even hints she might not be, and the battle between her loyalties that she once predicted she might have to face: when push comes to shove, does the Empire or Vector take precedence?
> 
> Hm.  After reading that list, I hope cramming all this into one chapter wasn't overkill.
> 
> This chapter had me thinking a lot about another topic that Star Wars frequently glosses over: droids.  The very first scene in the very first Star Wars movie ever made establishes that droids either have or have been programmed to mimic awareness of themselves (sentience), worry over their existence, and emotional distress; one of the very last scenes in the last of the Prequel Trilogy establishes that humans think nothing of wiping the memories of droids when it is considered necessary. Additionally, there are certainly multiple levels of programmed sentience/self-concern: the comedic value of the Roger Roger droids is tied to their general unawareness that they are disposable, and are, as infantry pawns, made to be destroyed.  Lifter droids are given almost no personality programming or any programming beyond picking things up and putting things down; protocol droids like C3PO are given the knowledge of 6 million (or billion?) forms of communication and high-level political proceedings.  C3PO, the, represents essentially the highest order of droid education, programming, and self-direction (within the framework of commands given by his master). And yet, for all that C3PO is - much as I love him - an obnoxious, interfering worrywart who is frequently emotionally and physically abusive to his best friend, nobody ever mentions reprogramming his personality, no matter how exasperated they are with him (which is, honestly, pretty much everybody at some point).
> 
> So, clearly, there is some degree of respect for personal droid autonomy, despite the fact that they equally as clearly occupy some odd tier of social structure that is between "slave" (they have restraining bolts and masters) and "household appliance" (they are machines, not people, and are not given a person's rights even within the Republic or Rebellion).  Star Wars (at least, what canon I have seen) tends to shy away from getting into a full-fledged discussion of 'droid rights'; one, it's generally not important to the main stories, and two, there's plenty of other political activity going on already.  [That was one of the amusing aspects of the Network Access section of Nar Shaddaa - the liberated droid gangs that were free of ownership, and rather militant about it.  These, understandably, largely focused on being trash mobs, not the philosophical debates of what status a droid has in society. But for a more thorough yet still pop-culture-y treatment of these ideas in a mere 45 minutes, watch "The Measure of a Man" from _Star Trek: The Next Generation_ , in which a trial takes place to determine the personal autonomy of Lt Cmdr Data.] 
> 
> Anyway, it puts Kait's actions in a nebulous light. She can only do what she's programmed to do, and if she's hacked to do otherwise, is she responsible for that? One really AMAZING thought is that this is no longer an academic debate. With self-driving cars now on the verge of becoming a public possibility, this is now a real social and technological issue with real moral and legal ramifications. If a self-driving car is hacked and is used to commit a crime, who bears the responsibility for it? The company who designed the software or the person who hacked it? Most would say: the hacker. But what if it is discovered that the company didn't make it "hackproof" enough? Now think about all the people mod and customize their cars. It's a practice with a very long history in the US, and if people were suddenly told, "you cannot mod your own vehicular property," car afficianados would be furious. But what if their mods include third-party programming on a car's computer systems? What if that creates a security breach, causes the failure of a safety feature, or opens a self-driving car up to hacks? Another thought: the government already once made an effort to get Apple to open a phone for investigation of a crime; Apple refused siting consumer privacy law. What if a company doesn't have the power or money to refuse a government's request to peek into the programming of a self-driving car - or other bit of technology we currently or may soon see has commonplace?


	35. Calculated Risks

“It’s quiet,” Vector observed tensely. The familiar brown house stood serene and quiet beside a street that was somewhat less so.

 

“Too quiet,” Paha agreed. Almost without exception, every other residence they had passed exhibited signs of worry and alarm: residents clustered at windows or were glued to holonet broadcasts, their hands clutching holocomms they were silently willing to ring, while outside small crowds gathered on the roads, fixing their frantic, worried stares, half-blinded with tears, at the signs of the disaster unfolding in the valley of the city below. On the main boulevards stretching upwards from the financial district downtown, a steady, somber parade marched on, bearing a shaken populace away from the shuddering horrors that seemed even to convulse the air, which had not trembled in this way in three decades. In comparison, the tranquility of the Hyllus home, with its curtains drawn like lids over sleepy eyes, engendered dread, not calm.

 

“Can you tell how things are in there? How many? Where?” In the past, Vector’s enhanced senses had been able to detect many an enemy’s body heat or electrochemical aura well before Paha’s vision could ferret them out.

 

Vector was already forestalling her with a shake of his head. “We can’t see through walls. We are vaguely aware of the presence of people, and we think they are in the main room, but only because of our current position, in line with the window. Who they are, and their condition? If any are The Fund, or if there are any droids? No.”

 

Paha didn’t answer, her attention fixed rigidly on the unassuming scene, and thought rapidly for a few minutes before formulating a plan.

 

“We must assume,” she deduced, “the The Fund knows we are coming here. All of this is calculated to draw us out, so we might as well trust that he has predicted our rescue attempt. The only thing he would not know is our exact timing.”

 

“If he were in contact with his droids at the factory, he could already know that we have left there, and done the math to expect our arrival,” Vector pointed out. “He will know our intent.”

 

“True. Our other option is to – essentially – walk up, knock on the door, and see if he is willing to negotiate.”

 

“Given the ruthlessness of the Cabal, we don’t place a great deal of stock in his willingness to consider a diplomatic solution,” Vector answered with some bitterness. “And all we will have done is delivered ourselves into his hands, just as he wants.”

 

“At which point, he no longer has any rationale for leaving your family alive, and I don’t trust him to release them in exchange for us.”

 

“It would merely delay the end, not prevent it,” Vector agreed hoarsely, recalling the horrifying sight of the droid army, dull metal limbs swinging in unison as it marched on the city. “And we would no longer be in any position to help them _or_ save Djircelle.”

 

“I’m sorry, Vector.” Paha took a breath. “But I don’t think we can even give him the chance. We need to strike, and strike hard.” She had been watching the house for the duration of their conversation, seeking any inkling of change, any movement, even the slightest wavering of a curtain to indicate the presence or passing of a body, either mechanical or flesh. But she turned her head now to him, her red eyes kindling with apprehension and concern. Her aura was weighted in somber colors, curling in strong, determined tendrils.

 

“It’s a risk, a severe one,” she confessed. “But I won’t do it without your approval.”

 

Vector was silent for a moment, considering. The lives of his parents and sister rested quite entirely in his hands, and his choice might mean the difference between their rescue or their condemnation, whatever his best intentions. With a shudder, he knew that his walking through the front door to the sight of their throats being slit was a horribly real possibility. Stars above, what if they were dead already? He had already made an attempt to resign them to fate, a most horrifying struggle of his soul, and he didn’t have the strength to repeat it, not now, when there were so close to his reach. Paha's tenacious valor had restored hope to him when he had been prepared to cede it for the good of the populace; to face now the idea that their bodies might already be cooling, their souls untethered from their corporeal houses – it was too much. If he could save them, as every nerve in his body cried out for him to do – but then, if his attempt was the very thing that sealed their deaths – His stomach rolled over in protest, and he briefly dropped his eyelids over his abyssal sight.

 

“Okay,” he murmured. “Let’s do it.”

 

While Vector had been coming to his decision, Paha had returned to surveying the scene before them, observing, assessing, planning, committing every detail to her mind in the event it could help or save her later. The noises of the street – a confused and distant amalgamation of holonet channels turned up loudly, muffled sobs, rapid feet, holocomms making frantic, insistent chirps – receded from her focus, leaving her attention honed, her purpose sharpened to the keenest edge.

 

“As you have your electrostaff,” she mused, “it will be better for you to take out the droids, as many as you can handle. I won't be as effective against them.”

 

“Leaving The Fund for you,” Vector added, his expression impenetrable. He didn't argue. Where the Star Cabal was concerned, he had long ago come to understand that for Paha, it was personal.

 

“I will need you to approach the front door,” she decided, “quietly, but with just enough noise to catch their attention while I flank around to the back. We'll pinch them between us.”

 

Vector, staring at the front door through which he fervently wished he could see, nodded slowly, then paused, shooting a look in her direction with a faint and thoughtful narrowing of his eyes.

 

“You’re stopping for our mother’s kitchen knives, aren’t you?”

 

\- - - -

 

Paha eased the kitchen yard door open with extraordinary care, thanking the stars that Sessali was sufficiently particular about her housekeeping to ensure that the latches and servos operated with near silence, and crept into the room, her senses alert and focused on the rest of the house as she slid one of her mother-in-law’s largest knives from its block, built into one of the handsome, wood-fronted drawers. It would serve – it had to – although it was still much shorter than her vibroblade, and of course could not deliver the shocking charge that was generally so effective on disrupting droid subsystems.

 

There had been a single droid sentry posted outside the kitchen door; one silent, overcharged bolt to the head from her sniper rifle had been sufficient to leave it sprawling on the ground between the vegetable beds. Paha doubted that, once inside, there would be any such similar easy targets. It was just as well: it was unlikely she would be granted the time needed to charge a bolt to the level necessary to take down an armored droid in one shot.

 

She was surprised to find no second guard stationed inside. It buoyed her spirits somewhat; if The Fund could not spare a second guard in the kitchen, that likely meant he was limited by his resources. Secreting the butcher knife behind her back, she crouched behind the counter-topped row of cabinets that jutted into the room, shielding herself with its thin cover while attempting to gauge the arrangement of friends and foes ahead.

 

“I know you’re there, Cipher.”

 

Paha froze at the sound of the voice, mockingly friendly. Did he really know she was there, or was that addressed to Vector at the front door?

 

“You might as well come out,” the voice continued.. “Why wait in the kitchen when this room is so much more comfortable? Your new family is waiting here for you to join us.”

 

Definitely her own position, not Vector’s, damn it all. There was a faint waft of air on her cheek. She envisioned the dimensions of the room, judging the direction and force of the voice to estimate a location.

 

“They can leave, once you come in.”

 

“You will have to forgive us if we don’t consider such a promise as binding,” came Vector’s reply in clipped tones. “Anyone can say six such meaningless words.”

 

Paha swiftly revised her mental image of the room. Vector would never have spoken such an unnecessary speech in the middle of so tense a situation unless he were trying to give her information. He had given her a great deal, and enough time to understand it.

 

First and foremost, he was informing her he was present; he had gone to the front door as planned. Second, that door was still open; he was likely standing in it. That had been the source of the draft on her face, and his speaking gave her a perfect idea of his position relative to the rest of the room. That also meant he could move neither in nor out, which was as much to say that the droid guards – Paha guessed two – who had met him at the door were still there and certainly wouldn’t have permitted him to remain armed. Then finally, she knew how carefully he selected his words, and he was equally cognizant. The use of the word _binding_ was not accidental; the Hyllus family, she guessed, were cuffed or bound. Vector could be mathematically precise – and The Fund’s promise had been seven words, not six. He would never have miscounted. Six words for six foes.

 

He had given her all he could. Six enemies. Two guarding Vector, one was The Fund himself, which left three – one each for the Hyllus'?

 

“I’m not a hardhearted person, Cipher, but there is a limit to my patience. Put your hands up, and come out slowly. One of the droids will help you with that rifle of yours.”

 

She heard the stumping metal sound of droid footfalls, and as she hesitantly raised her hands above the counter, she risked a glance. To her surprise, she found herself looking wonderingly into the blank smooth features of Kait.

 

Had Vector counted her in his tally of six, or not? Clearly, her programming had been hijacked; doubtless, as the populace of Djircelle raced homeward from the disaster unfolding downtown, The Fund’s next stage would be to similarly activate all the household droids in the city. Those who had sought refuge in their own houses would be instantly hostage to their own mechanical servants. Like one of his spiders, The Fund’s plots and plans seemed to have sunk into every aspect of Djircelle life, public to private, professional to personal, corporate to home.

 

Passively, Paha permitted the droid to take her rifle. It wasn’t, she reminded herself, the first time she had entered a fight in the underdog’s position, and she wasn’t going to let it be the first time that her disadvantage would become her excuse for losing. Kait jerkily hung the rifle by its strap on her own shoulder and tilted her head momentarily as her empty eyes, glowing bright yellow, stared briefly into Paha’s before turning away.

 

“She is disarmed, master,” she intoned dully, no trace of her old officious perkiness in her programmed voice. For a fraction of a second, Paha stared after her. The droid hadn’t searched her person. And yet, as Kait had approached, her robotic sight had taken in the entire kitchen, including the knife drawer that stood ever so slightly ajar, a few tiny millimeters of each knife handle just barely visible. Each knife handle, that is, except for the one hidden behind Paha’s back.

 

Kait – the real Kait, with all her efficient attention to household detail – couldn’t have missed it. Did The Fund’s programming override eliminate some of that attentiveness? Or was this some last vestige of the real Kait, fighting an impossible and unwinnable battle against the virus that had forced her to betray her own?

 

Adronik, Sessali, and Elsian sat on the floor against the wall, hands cuffed, the younger girl curling against her mother in the familiar attitude of a small child clinging to a parent in the wake of a nightmare, secure in the knowledge that somehow, someway, that parent would make everything all right. Sessali mutely rested her cheek against her daughter’s hair, unable to provide the reassurance. There was a purple bruise on Adronik’s temple, sluggishly oozing a trace of blood; his injured leg was twisted awkwardly and painfully beneath him. Clearly, he had not passively accepted this intrusion on his domain. Over them stood two droids, another two, as Paha had predicted, stood by Vector, one still holding his electrostaff. The remaining droid stood beside The Fund in the center of the room, while Kait – Vector had, in fact, counted her among the enemy number – held Paha’s rifle loosely as Paha paused in the doorway.

 

Paha met Vector’s gaze with her own, an impish part of her brain recalling Elsian’s old mockery: _how can you even tell when you’re looking at each other?_ No one else might be able to tell, but they certainly could. She sent him an urgent, flaring signal with her vermilion eyes; he, looking grimly imperturbable and thoroughly inhuman, as quickly answered it.

 

_Be ready._

 

_We are._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a delay on this piece while taking care of some real-life work stuff as well as writing some chapters for "Monster For You," but I'm back at it! I had hoped to have the next chapter (the bulk of which is mostly written) completed and edited for posting tonight, too, but my husband just got home from work with the news that the owner of the store he teaches at has sold the building and will be closing he store in a month so he'll be out of a job; naturally, this required a certain amount of Serious Discussion this evening.
> 
> So much for the fabled economic recovery.
> 
> Most of this I wrote very quickly - I hadn't even started this until Monday evening, just 3 days ago. It's not exactly coincidental that the day before I wrote that opening description was the anniversary of the World Trade Center attack. Tough as fuck to see some of that footage again. I grew up in Upstate New York, about 3 hours north of Manhattan; I had friends who were at NYU and Columbia and other universities and colleges in New York City when it happened. We were all in our sophomore year of school.
> 
> I dunno, I guess that's all I have to say this time.


	36. The Fund

“That wasn’t so difficult, was it, Cipher?” The Fund made a sort of gleeful chortle as Paha entered with meticulous, quiet footsteps, Kait mincing along behind a bit more loudly. The Fund surveyed her from head to toe with a smug and lingering glance, his small, pale eyes shrinking as the fleshy lids narrowed at her. She didn't see much purpose in answering, but returned his stare levelly, giving away nothing but her display of uncowed poise.

 

“Yes,” he breathed unpleasantly, taking her dauntlessness as a challenge, or perhaps even an affront. “The magnificent Cipher Agent, the savior of the Empire, the destroyer of the greatest enterprise of ordinary man in the history of the galaxy. Does it make you proud, Cipher, being the lapdog of the Sith and the Jedi? Are you pleased with yourself?”

 

Her profile had been accurate: he _was_ arrogant, he _did_ enjoy flaunting the superiority of his intellect, of gloating that he held the upper hand. Even better, then, that she appeared disarmed and helpless, entirely at his mercy. A sparking tendril of earthy-scented confidence curled through her spirit, detectable only to Vector, who held himself in his most impassive and Killik-like guise. The Fund was cautious, though; as she entered, he had made a deliberate step back, carefully ensuring no less than a two-meter distance between himself and Paha at any time.

 

“Very,” she answered blandly, moving with wary nonchalance around the edge of the room. She offered nothing more.

 

The Fund curled his thick lip in disdain. “Hunter said you were good. He said he liked talking with you. If this is the extent of your conversation, I can’t say I’m impressed. But then, maybe Hunter wasn’t as smart as he thought he was.” As she moved, so did he, a measured, deceptively offhand movement to maintain their separation. She could not close the distance between them before a droid would intervene.

 

“Clearly,” she agreed. She was uninterested in nostalgia; remembering Hunter was an exercise she had no wish to be part of. Coming to terms with what had been done to her on Hunter's orders, recognizing that there were scars she would carry on her soul to the grave, and discovering that they only held over her the power she permitted them to, and that she would not dance to the tune of a dead man's whimsies – these were realizations that had taken time and effort, and potentially would take time and effort for the rest of her life. She wasn't interested in the distractions they offered at this moment. If The Fund would tell her nothing useful, then it was best to cut it short. She had no desire to draw out the exchange; the lull of talk would increase the risk, not diminish it, and, keeping her in-laws close in her peripheral vision, she had more priorities here than just the destruction of The Fund and his enterprise. “I’m sure you are fairer-minded than Hunter, too. Your half of the deal?”

 

“I’ll show you I am a man of my word; I’ll let my charming hosts be on their way.”

 

Paha, still pursuing her slow and careful prowl, didn't need the confirming glance at Vector to know that The Fund was lying.

 

At his gesture, the two droids that stood guard stooped to the trio of prisoners, and Paha, drawing casually abreast of the droid closest to The Fund, reacted instantaneously, yanking the butcher knife from beneath the back of her jacket and plunging it at an angle through a gap between the chassis plates, straight into the electronic heart of circuitry. It wasn’t enough to destroy it – without the vibroblade charge, the systems that had not been physically severed from the control boards she had struck would still be perfectly functional – but it was enough to remove half its limbs from functionality, and, moreover, enough to take everyone else, Vector excepted, by surprise.

 

Vector leaped forward to seize his electrostaff, clutched in the guard’s hands. The droid tightened its hold, and he swung around, using the droid to shield himself from the bolts fired by its companion. Paha, meanwhile, dropped to her knee where Kait’s unresisting hand held her rifle loosely. At this angle, it was impossible to hit The Fund, but she had time to fire twice, once each into the droids bent over the captives, before he was on her, a vibroknife sparking in his grip.

 

She had had occasion in the past to consider how unsuitable long-barreled rifles were for close-quarters fighting, and it didn’t get much closer than this: face to face with her mortal enemy in a room full of furniture and curios, clogged with half-functional droids. The Fund, darting inside the reach of her rifle, dove at her, and although she managed to narrowly dodge the swinging arc of the vibroknife, she had insufficient room to leap aside. Forced to confront him head-on, she whipped her hand around his, pinning his arm and trapping the deadly blade behind her; simultaneously, he rushed her bodily against an end table, knocking the lamp on it to the floor with a high-pitched shattering sound.

 

With one arm bound up with his, Paha's defenses were half-constrained, and she gave a breathless grunt of pain as his massive fist drove into her ribs and kidney. He was a tall man, powerfully and heavily built, perhaps twice her weight or more, and, bent awkwardly backwards against the table, she was in such a stance of poor leverage that it required all her strength to shove him aside, following it up with planting her boot in his chest and shoving hard. It gave her the briefest of seconds to assess her surroundings in a glance. Vector’s maneuverings had exposed the droid that had held his electrostaff to enough damage at the hands of its partner that it had collapsed, almost useless, to the floor, but the two that she had shot were merely damaged, and were still more than capable of clinging to the dictates of their violent programming. One had staggered up, stumbling to assist its fellow against Vector, while the other, its head horribly disfigured from the bolt she had blasted through it, seemed to leer a ghastly, spectral grin at Paha. At the droid's feet, Adronik jerked frantically at his fastened restraints. As for the one she had stabbed –

 

Paha gasped, incredulous. The one she had stabbed was distracted with a fight of its own – against _Kait_. The perky little maid, programmed to irritatingly happy servility and usurped into betrayal, was exerting all the strength her arm servos could exert to yank on the intact shoulder of The Fund’s droid, holding it back from helping its master in his murderous purpose. Paha was so astounded by the sight that she was nearly taken by surprise as The Fund closed ranks again.

 

What he lacked in finesse, The Fund made up for in brute strength and savagery, giving him the upper hand despite her speed and skill. When he connected, landing a blow across her face, it was with such vicious force that she staggered, stars exploding behind her eyes. Despite the disorienting ringing in her head, her eyes clearly caught the glint of piercing light on the blade as he began to raise it; she flung herself at him, toppling him and dragging him down, and she slammed his head against the floor with a sickening crack. Half-dazed he rolled suddenly, bucking her off, and ground the breath out of her in the same motion he used to smash her face into the carpet. Gritting her teeth against the rush of pain, she drove her elbow straight back into his head, following the blow with a flick of her foot that sent his vibroblade spinning across the floor towards the kitchen, far out of reach. Enraged, The Fund redoubled his efforts, and it required all of her focus to block him effectively, leaving her barely any opportunity to counterattack.

 

The room was a screeching mess of droid parts and struggle, punctuated with the glittering sounds of smashing as knick-knacks and pottery bits were knocked to the floor to the counterpoint bass of furniture slamming; a symphony of chaos and uproar in which Paha could hear, indelibly, the Killik Song of the Hunter. All at once, a fresh noise struck her ear: the sound of a foot striking the floor, urgent and rapid.

 

At first, she thought it was the droid with the twisted face, now lurching towards her with stomping durasteel feet, but her befuddled brain informed her that no, that was quite stupid, as the striking noise was faster and more regular than the droid’s footfalls. Her eyes focused beyond: Adronik, urgently slamming down his uninjured foot, desperately directing her attention to something that lay half-hidden behind the leg of the couch – his old service blaster, half-polished and barely charged. He must have, Paha realized, fetched it when the troubles began, inspired by their idle conversation over the poulas just a day earlier. It seemed like so much longer ago! Kicking The Fund sharply in the face, she made a lunging crawl half a body length along the floor, stretching out her arm to grab it.

 

The smooth metal handle settled easily into her grasping fingers, and she rolled as she fired, one bolt to finish the droid with the devastated visage, and two more into the bulky body of The Fund as he flailed to keep his hold on her. The blaster bolts slowed The Fund only slightly, and not long enough for Paha to finish her scramble to a more tactically viable position. He seized her by the waist and threw her down, grabbing her wrist and bashing her knuckles until he knocked the weapon from her grip. Snatching it away before she could recover it, he buried the barrel of the blaster in her ribs and pulled the trigger once, then again, and then once more. She muffled the agonized howl that attempted to force its way past her lips, but she could not silence her aura, screaming aloud in tones of red pain and hot white, stinking metallic and sulfuric embers, struggling as though it would run from itself and the hurt it found in the body that housed it.

 

Vector saw the burning shriek tear through her, a bursting wave that crested through the room with her at its epicenter. Thanks to the machinations of Intelligence and a dangerous serum, she had more endurance and a higher pain tolerance than anyone else he knew, and yet – three blaster shots at point-blank range? He cried out in alarm, “Paha!” and the frantic agitation of his voice cut through the fog of battle that clogged her senses, pulling awareness back to her stunned mind.

 

The charge on the blaster was spent, and The Fund, lost in bloodlust, had flung it away in favor of a more visceral victory, a revenge won through nothing more than the strength of his own fingers. With The Fund’s weight pinning her to the floor, his hands around her throat to squeeze the breath and life from her, Paha’s vision, blotched by the firework dance of lurid purple sparks, narrowed down in a tunnel to just The Fund, the man she must kill before he killed all others, starting with herself. There were people here who were helpless, who were innocent, who were depending on her. She must fight, and she must do it now. Vector, still trapped in his own battle, was too far away to help her; she cast out her hand wildly, straining for the droid collapsed in a disarrayed heap beside her. Her fingertips brushed something, a handle that held her hope of life and salvation: she pulled free Sessali’s knife.

 

Reaching down within herself to call up her last reserves of strength, she plunged the knife up to its hilt in The Fund’s unprotected side. The air was torn by his hideous shout of rage and pain, and he dropped his hold on her neck. Gasping, she pulled back the knife, blood pouring from beneath his ribs, and prepared to strike again, when he caught her hand in his with a hissing growl that flecked spittle into her face.

 

“No,” he snarled viciously. Even wounded, he had the advantage of leverage, and bent her wrist sharply as he forced the kitchen knife to aim its lethal point towards her. With quivering muscles, Paha strained to counteract him, the handle of the knife slipping in her fingers, slick with hot, sour blood. “Not this time, Cipher – I’m not like Hunter; you won’t get mercy from _me_.”

 

There was a loud sound – the crash of one of the droids beaten down severely under Vector’s strength and skill, in the ferocity of his desperation to fly to her aid – and in the tumult there was the barest flicker, the tiniest opening, the fracture on which all her chances rested. She twisted the knife violently in The Fund's grip, instantly sinking the full of its length in the hollow of his throat. Breath and blood sprayed from his severed trachea.

 

“I don’t need it,” she snapped coldly, wrenching the knife sideways. The look of astonishment was still on The Fund’s face as the last of his life hemorrhaged out the slice in his carotid artery. He went limp, his head slumping on her shoulder in death, and Paha, breathing hard and her azure face flushed purple with effort and spattered with bright red blood, wearily laid back on the carpet, almost all coherent thought briefly fleeing her brain.

 

 _You can't rest yet, Fennec,_ some dim reminder prodded from the recessed depths of her psyche. _They need you. The Empire needs you. The universe needs you._

 

 _The universe_ , she just had sufficient mental presence to respond, _can bloody damn well wait._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote a lot of this last week, and was going to polish and post it then, but (as mentioned in the last chapter), a few matters of much greater importance blocked that. Saturday I was away all day, doing my annual judging of the costume contest at a local comic con, and on Sunday I needed to catch up on an avalanche of work (like, real, actually-my-job work). This is all actually a good thing, because when I re-read the chapter, I realized it needed a _substantial_ rewrite before it would be post-able. I gave it a thorough overhaul Sunday afternoon, and did a little bit of spit-polish yesterday and today, and I think I'm good now.
> 
> I am not particularly good, I don't think, at fight scenes or scenes with a lot of action. In _Drones_ , this was fine, because all the fights were already handled in-game: anyone who had played the game knew what the combat was like. I didn't have that crutch this time, and I realized I actually needed to bite the bullet and put together a climactic fight - one where there is a real feeling of danger, and where the threat presented by the foes is believable. I don't have a good litmus for a fight scene - how long is too long? Does it get tedious? Does the description of the action make sense? Is it clear who is winning and who is not? I haven't reworked this much of a chapter in quite a while. Not, of course, that that's a bad thing.
> 
> One thing I really do like doing is making connections to earlier snippits - Sessali's kitchen knife from Paha's near-disastrous lessons in cooking; Adronik's service blaster that he had contemplated in an earlier conversation. I enjoy when I see that in other works - when things tie together; it's one of the aspects I really liked in _Star Trek: Beyond_.


	37. Settling Dust

The universe could wait, perhaps, but Vector could not. Or would not – it was much the same for him.

 

He shoved aside The Fund's earthly remains, rolling the body over with a disgusted kick, and dropped to his knees at her side, his hands eagerly running down her face, her arms, her hands, her torso, seeking injuries as over and over he murmured, “Beloved, beloved!”

 

“I – ” she said weakly as she caught her breath. “I’m okay.” She made a motion as if to sit up, and he responded instantly, scooping her up in his arms, sitting fully to let his body take the weight of hers against him. He smoothed back the hair from her face, wiping away the spatters of blood that were not hers, and they held each other, trembling from exertions both physical and emotional, faces pressed cheek-to-cheek and eyes closed, listening to the joined rapid tattoo of their hearts.

 

“We're okay,” he whispered, feeling the warmth of her cerulean skin against his, with her blood moving freely through the canals of capillaries beneath. A giddy quiver of relief trembled in her sinews and he opened his eyes at her movement, his gaze lighting at once on a smile that was only slightly ragged at its fringes.

 

“Chalk another in our column of victories,” she observed with a faint chuckle. But she could not relax – The Fund was dead, but what of his army of droids? She tensed again. “Djircelle!”

 

“Not yet,” Vector commanded in a serious tone which indicated that any counter-argument would be made vainly. “We need a moment. _You_ need a moment.”

 

To emphasize his point, he held her a little away from him, and looked pointedly at the blackened scorches that surrounded the hole burned through the side of her jacket, and as she shifted to follow his gaze, she winced at the unexpected pain of the injury finally starting to overcome the adrenaline that had kept her inured from it. Vector bent to inspect the wound more closely, delicately pulling aside the matted shreds of shirt that had melted to her skin with the heat of the blaster bolt, and Paha's breath made a faint hiss in her tightening throat.

 

“How bad?” she inquired. “On a scale of one to wampa.”

 

“It is a serious injury, but not a critical one. We can see already the chemistry of your cells, beginning their repairs,” he reported. He flashed a small smile at her. “You'll live.”

 

“Lucky you.”

 

“Indeed, we are,” he answered, planting a kiss on her cheek. Her eyes flashed a message to him, and he turned then, at last, to confront the stunned looks on his family's faces, the looks he had not yet found himself ready to see. They had thought they had known everything about him – the Killiks, the Joining, the departure from the Diplomatic Service, the alien wife – and yet today had brought them shock after shock, illuminating more of his life than he had intended or they had thought possible. Adronik's face wore something like confused pride, while Sessali stared at him with silent tears coursing down her cheeks. It had taken her so long to come to accept him as he was now – as he had been that morning, rather – and in the course of a mere single day, what she was just beginning to learn to know was yet again not the whole. Elsian remained as she was, huddled against the wall with her face buried in her knees, and it was not until she felt the warmth of Vector's hand, releasing the cuffs that bound her, that she lifted her swollen eyes.

 

“Mother,” Vector began quietly. He glanced briefly back at Paha, then continued, “do you still keep the medkit under the lavatory sink?”

 

Sessali blinked several times, her mouth moving slightly once or twice before any sound issued from her throat. “Yes.”

 

“Elsian,” Vector turned to his sister. “Would you be so kind as to fetch it?”

 

With her back braced against the wall, the girl slowly slid to her feet, her large eyes fixed on him.

 

“There is nothing to be scared of any longer,” he assured them. He extended his hand to his father, helping Adronik to his feet, and spoke to his sister again, his voice quiet and gentle. “It is no matter, Elsian. We will find it.”

 

“No –” Elsian's voice leaped from her mouth in a high-edged squeak and she edged past the rubble of a battered droid until she could run up the hallway. “I'll get it!”

 

She was back before anyone could manage to speak again; Vector had guided his mother to one of the remaining intact chairs and was in the process of handing his father's cane back to Adronik when Elsian reappeared and froze at the entrance to the room, suddenly fearfully unable to enter across the battlefield littered with shattered droids. She mutely thrust the medical kit towards Vector. Paha meanwhile was up; she had silently retrieved The Fund's vibroknife and was moving slowly from droid to droid, making certain that each was destroyed with a quiet, unobtrusive efficiency, unwilling to impose the witnessing of her disagreeable task on the shaken civilians.

 

Her side ached; she could feel the scorched, crisp folds of her skin chafing against her shirt as she delivered a final death-giving charge to each droid, and she grimly pressed her lips together. She paused and held still as Vector plucked a low-grade medpack from the kit and tore her shirt to get a clean view of the blaster burn. The medpack was not a strong one; so ordinary a kit would not, naturally, have the sorts of medicines that Doctor Lokin routinely kept stocked on the _Phantom_ , but this would do until they had access to a medical facility. As Vector finished winding the bandage around her torso, she gave him a wordless look of gratitude and affection before turning her attention to the family.

 

“I'm sorry about this,” she said, her voice soft but sincere. “You don't know how much I regret that this happened.”

 

“Why did it?” asked Adronik abruptly. “We've never seen this man before – why did he target us?”

 

“I'm afraid it's because he was using you. To get to us. To me. That's all I can –” Paha glanced down to where blood pooled around The Fund's body, destroying forever Sessali's once spotless carpet, and her eye caught something else. “Oh no,” she breathed softly.

 

“Kait!” Sessali gasped, dismayed, jumping up. Paha, on her knees, was already clearing away the debris of one of The Fund's battle droids, and Sessali knelt beside her as she uncovered the motionless battered chassis of the family servant.

 

Was a droid more than the sum of its programming? Had Kait known loyalty beyond that which was an ordinary part of her command subroutines? With her native loyalty supplanted by The Fund's viral overrides, she should have been stripped of her ability to disobey his commands. And yet, Kait had overlooked the knife drawer. She had held Paha's rifle on the side closest to her, and held it loosely that Paha might use it. She had restrained this battle droid from helping The Fund, clutching at it so hard that the wires and servos in her mechanical arms had been torn apart. In so many ways, both little and large, she had conspired against the virus that corrupted her to save the family she served.

 

The droid maid lay still now, her metal body beaten nearly beyond recognition, and there was no glow in the eyes that had once been lit so bright. Kait had been forced to betray her masters, and yet, like a living thing, she had atoned for a sin she had had no control over committing. She had been dedicated to her masters and her devotion continued to the end; for them, she had given up her electronic life.

 

“We are sorry,” Vector consoled with heartfelt sorrow as Sessali sadly touched the droid's cold metal face. The question of the droid's self-sacrifice was one he would contemplate later, when he was at liberty to reflect on what possible programming there could be, virus-resistant, that would give such an approximation of a soul to a machine. Whatever betrayal The Fund might have forced on Kait had been redeemed. Had this been her wish? Or was it nothing more than an effect of the restraining circuits that had marked her as belonging to the Hyllus family? “We know how well she was valued.”

 

Paha slipped aside to Adronik. Pale-faced and limping if he walked, he nonetheless appeared to be rapidly recovering his equanimity; Paha had rightly guessed he would be the first. A soldier may leave the war, but the war never quite completely leaves the soldier.

 

“Sir,” she inquired in a low voice, “might I borrow your holo?”

 

“What? Oh – yes, of course,” Adronik answered, his tone somewhat louder. “It's just there on the end table – or it was. Now I'm not quite sure where...”

 

The table in question had been knocked over, and lay in three or four large pieces and quite a few more tiny shards, but the holo that had once sat on it was found intact a meter or so away on the floor. Paha had – foolishly, she told herself – expected that her discreet request would go unnoticed, but even if Adronik's response had not caught everyone's attention, there was little, she reasoned, that she could do now that would not be noticed. But time could not be wasted now in futile quests for privacy; her new family had seen this much, they might as well see a little more. She dialed.

 

“Non-secure line and an audience, Keeper,” Paha warned in place of a greeting.

 

“Understood. Did you get him?” Shara wasted no time.

 

“I did. Although I hope you weren't counting on getting him alive.”

 

“Dead is fine with me. Nicely done, agent.”

 

“And Djircelle? What of the people? The droids?” Paha tried to keep the anxiety out of her voice. _Please_ , she begged silently, _please, don't let this be Eradication Day all over again._

 

A tiny smile lightened the corners of Shara's mouth. “Your little trick worked. Three got in through your back door jury-rig and shut down the droid army before it entered downtown. Imperial forces landed in Djrcelle almost thirty minutes ago and are actively reinforcing the local divisions. Droids all over the city have been taken into custody or destroyed. Casualties are minimal, and we have a cadre of Fixers on the way to help with cleanup and get the financials back up and running.”

 

Keeper's pleased look broadened, her analytical eyes warming as she looked at Paha's dazed expression. “You did it, Cipher. Jurio, this sector of space, the entire galactic Imperial economy – all of it is saved, thanks to you.”

 

With a hand that shook slightly, Paha pushed back her mussed hair from her brow and released a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. She had made the right call. This time, her decision had been the city's salvation, not its damnation. There would be no second Eradication Day.

 

“Get in touch later for a complete debriefing,” Keeper continued, returning to her old, business-like manner. “We've got our hands full here.”

 

“Resources still scarce?” Paha asked, a touch of her wry sense of humor flickering through her. It was unlikely that she would ever go in to Intelligence headquarters again now that it was run by the Sith, but she appreciated Keeper's glib rationales.

 

“When are they not, these days?”

 

“Do you have a Fixer to spare? This location.”

 

“Of course. I'll move it to the top of the assignments.”

 

“Thanks.”

 

“Any time. Keeper out.”

 

Paha closed the holocall and waited a moment before turning around, knowing the looks that would meet her eyes. Once again, she would be the outsider. The one who had brought all this trouble upon them. The one who threw their son and brother into danger again and again.

 

But, she added as she felt him slip his hand into hers, also the one who loved him, and whom he loved in return. She was about to open her mouth – to say what, she didn't know – when Elsian, some of her old defensive sauciness enlivening her tone, asked, “So... who's Paha?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this chapter went down easy. I hadn't written more than a paragraph of it when I posted the last chapter about 2 hours ago or so, and I've got it ready to go - written, reread, edited, proofed, and reread again. It's awfully nice when chapters come together like this.
> 
> It was not an error (on my part, that is) that Vector shouted Paha's name during their fight against The Fund. He really did accidentally call her by her real name in his anxiety. There will be a little more about that next chapter - which will likely be the last or second to last (?), or perhaps with an additional epilogue. There needs to be a couple more things to happen before the story wraps, and I'm not sure how long they will take - but it is winding down! Part of me is sad it's finishing (I love these characters so much!); part of me is happy that I can either go on to another sequel or switch off to working on Quinn/Warrior in "Monster"; part of me is hella psyched that I completed another novel. I've have it done in less than 10 months, which I'd say is pretty respectable, for something that's almost 90,000 words.
> 
> Not bad, indeed. Not bad at all.


	38. Calm After the Storm

The rest of the day felt barely less busy than the first half, although it was, at least, significantly less alarming, to the relief of all. Something like a calm, the sort of subdued exhaustion that sets in after chaos and trauma, descended on the room. Paha, with her arm pressed stiffly against the bandage that slowly darkened with the blood that maintained its sluggish but steady trickle from her wound, made an effort to shield those who were less accustomed to these scenes, and shepherded everyone into the kitchen where Vector promptly ensured everyone – himself included – was equipped with a bracing mug of tea.

 

“Fine to start with,” Adronik nodded appreciatively as he took the steaming brew from his son, “but something a bit stronger wouldn't be amiss, either.”

 

Circumstances were not, either, particularly less awkward. Only to be expected, really, Paha reflected, considering the events and revelations of the day. Everything about her, she knew, was so vastly different than what she had presented via her carefully cultivated facade, even down to her name. There was hardly going to be any hiding that, despite Vector's valiant effort in the face of Elsian's shrewd question.

 

“It's a Chenuh word,” Vector had produced after a blank moment spent realizing that – _herald's_ _fury_ – he had indeed blown their cover in a single unguarded word. “A term of endearment.”

 

Elsian folded her arms with a skeptical look. “Professional translator, remember?” she said pointedly. “I know the difference between a real name and a pet name when I hear it.”

 

Dismayed, Vector just managed to keep himself from casting a worried, apologetic glance at his wife, still hoping that something could be salvaged if he didn't confirm Elsian's suspicions by making eye contact with Paha. But before he could formulate a response, Paha herself stepped into the hole left hanging by the inquiry.

 

“It's me,” she admitted mildly. Vector closed his mouth and surprise succumbed him to temptation, permitting himself the look he had avoided the past several seconds. Her aura was slightly frayed at the edges – a shade of tiredness born of more of worry than physical exertion, and a ripple induced by the pain kept largely at bay via the effects of the serum that would forever be mingled in her blood – but she was nonetheless collected and confident in her decision. Whether she would have done it if he had not forced the issue was a matter of some debate, but regardless, she did not seem to regret revealing the secret of her name now. Much later, Vector reflected that it was perhaps this moment over all others in which she became truly part of the Hyllus family.

 

“I'm Paha,” she reiterated.

 

“But,” Sessali breathed dazedly from where she still knelt on the floor beside the metal body of Kait, “your name is Legate...”

 

“A cover identity,” Paha replied gently. Sessali was looking rather like this was the last of the shocks she was capable of handling for the day, and it was at this point that Paha decided that the sooner the family was removed from the carnage in the parlor, the better.

 

“Makes sense, m'dear,” Adronik observed, extending his hand to raise Sessali from the floor despite his own reliance on his cane. “She can't very well go around the galaxy telling everyone everything, hey? No end of trouble if she did that.”

 

Despite a vaguely grayish hue underlying her normally azure face, Paha waved off the necessity of further immediate medical attention; she would wait, she said, until the team from Intelligence had arrived to carry out its mission of clearing the house of all traces of The Fund and his droids. A heavy silence filled the kitchen, and Paha, nursing her second cup of tea and staring into the traces of debris left by the leaves in the bottom of the mug, raised her head suddenly at a sound from beyond the front door. She gestured for the rest of the family to remain behind, and knew Vector would stand in between she and they, ready to assist or protect each as necessary, as she went to the door, automatically moving with stealth and caution. Her wariness was superfluous; as soon as she noted who stood on the other side of the door, Paha opened it and gestured them inside.

 

“Fixer Twelve!” she greeted him with pleasure.

 

He gave her a nod as he entered, and the trio of Intelligence operatives in his wake promptly fanned out through the room, instantly setting to work on gathering the remains of the droids. Later, in a secure facility, they would examine every servo and memory chip, coaxing every fragment to give up its secrets.

 

“The usual fun, then?” Twelve surveyed the scene with a satisfied expression. “Nice work.”

 

Paha simply responded with a small smile and an inclination of her head. “You will notice,” she said as she watched the team get to work, “that one of the droids isn't The Fund's. Just an ordinary household helpdroid. I don't know if she can be salvaged but... she did give her life to protect them.”

 

“We'll take a look,” Twelve assured. He shifted his gaze to encompass her stained and tattered clothing more fully, noting her spattered appearance. “His blood, or yours?” he inquired laconically.

 

“Both,” supplied Vector, who had come to stand nearby, before Paha could answer herself. “Unsurprisingly, we have not yet convinced her to get treatment for it.”

 

“Agent One-six-one,” Twelve rapped out. Instantly, one of his underlings rose from her task and presented herself, and Twelve added, gesturing to Paha with a waggle of his head, “Medkit.”

 

Without demur, Paha sat quietly still, watching somewhat ruefully as the agent cut away the torn material of her shirt and jacket to inspect the bandages beneath. She had _liked_ that jacket.

 

“Sorry, sir,” the agent mumbled softly.

 

“No matter, a jacket can be replaced,” Paha answered easily.

 

“No,” stammered the agent, awkwardly shuffling a kolto pack in her hands, “I meant – the bandages – that is, it must have hurt when I removed them...”

 

“Honestly, I didn't notice,” Paha replied. The agent's pale face flushed pink with embarrassment, then drained to an even paler shade. Perhaps it was the metallic smell of the blood. Perhaps she was imagining what it took for a person to shrug off something like this. Looking down at her, Paha was struck by how raw this girl was; stars above _,_ she was young! She glanced about her with darting wide eyes, and likely knew nothing of Imperial brainwashing serums and the brutal necessity that could shape a person, that had shaped Paha. This might even be her first time in the field, a new recruit under the banner of Sith, not Imperial, Intelligence. Paha wondered if she herself had ever looked like this, so green and innocent. She doubted it; if she had, it was only in her childhood. Life had stripped her naiveté from her at an early age. If the Sith were sending such inexperienced youths into the field, they were apparently desperate to rapidly rebuild what they had eviscerated. For all that, Agent One-six-one did her work efficiently and competently, with only a slight and occasional tremor in her rapid hands, and Paha felt somewhat reassured. After all, if One-six-one had Twelve to guide her, she would likely be all right.

 

“Um,” she said hesitantly a moment after rising to her feet. “I'm supposed to fill out a log. What name should I...?”

 

“A concerned Imperial citizen,” Twelve supplied.

 

“But – ”

 

“A concerned,” Twelve repeated with detached emphasis. “Imperial. Citizen.”

 

“Right, sir. Absolutely. Concerned citizen it is, sir.”

 

The remaining agents had already completed whisking the droids and The Fund's body discretely out of sight to a truck waiting outside. With the worst reminders of violence removed, Adronik and Sessali had come forward to watch mutely as the team gathered up the fragmented chairs and end tables, and finished by rolling up the rug and running a quick and efficient sweep of the floor. In perhaps twenty minutes, all sign of the chaos had vanished.

 

“We will do our best to replace as much of your damaged goods as we can,” Twelve told them, faintly apologetic. “We appreciate your cooperation, and the Empire thanks you for your assistance in bringing this criminal to justice.”

 

And with precious little more than that, the team of Fixers was gone, swiftly and secretively through the growing crowd of curious onlookers from the neighborhood who had finally begun to suspect that something odd was happening at the Hyllus house. Vector closed the door securely, and looked back across the room, curiously empty now with both the mess and half the furniture missing. The silence was thick. Sessali, staring openly at her daughter-in-law, surprised everyone, including herself, by breaking it.

 

“You're terrifying,” she blurted thoughtlessly, and only Vector saw the twitch of muscles in Paha's face, the abrupt contraction of her aura as she flinched, as through she had been slapped. Sessali's cheeks turned instantly crimson as she realized how rude she had been.

 

“You're amazing,” Adronik said in a kind voice, stepping forward to briefly take Paha by both hands. “And while I can't say I understand all that happened here, I can still say I'm deeply grateful to you for your role in it.”

 

“A good part of it is my fault,” Paha admitted. “Not yours. It fell on you just by way of association. So it was my duty to fix it.”

 

“And ours,” Vector put in mildly, slipping his hand into hers. Her aura strengthened, taking courage, shining nobly.

 

“This is what life is like for you?” Elsian asked. “You do this all the time?”

 

“Perhaps not _all_ the time,” Paha replied blandly. “But... yeah, more or less.”

 

“Bloody fucking stars,” Elsian breathed. This time, Sessali didn't even bother reprimanding her daughter for her swearing. There were, perhaps, bigger things to be concerned about; there were, certainly, far worse ways of being rude that had nothing to do with curse words. Sessali grasped for her old familiar habits, the things she prided herself on.

 

“Would anyone,” she spoke up softly, then tried again, “would anyone like anything to eat?”

 

“Yes!” Elsian answered fervently. “I'm sure there's not a restaurant in town open today, but I'll help you cook, Mamma. But I would say it's up to the heroes of the hour to decide what that will be.” She threw a pert look in Paha's direction. “So, heroes, what's it to be?”

 

Vector yielded the question to Paha with a glance, already reasonably certain what her answer would be. He wasn't incorrect.

 

“Tionese noodles.”

 

\- - - -

 

Paha didn't bother shutting her door that evening, and so was unsurprised to look up from her draft of her report to see Vector leaning against the doorframe, watching her with warm, dark eyes.

 

“How long have you been there?” she asked curiously with a small and faintly flustered smile.

 

“Long enough to mentally disrobe you two or three times, by our count,” he answered, and grinned as her embarrassment deepened into a purple blush over her cheekbones.

 

“How rare the day,” he mused, “that anyone should get the drop on you. Even us.”

 

She laughed, pushing herself up from her lounging attitude across the bedspread. “Fortunate I know I am among friends here. Among... family.”

 

Vector drew a long breath of air, inhaling her faint scent even across the distance between them. “Yes, we are,” he agreed quietly. He stepped in, closing and securing the door behind him, and sat on the edge of the bed.

 

“It's still strange,” Paha reflected. “Feeling safe. It will take some getting used to.”

 

“We know what you mean. For so long, we feared and dreaded coming here. Who would have thought that light could penetrate those great walls of disappointment and bitterness?”

 

“I did.”

 

With a small noise of amusement, Vector conceded, “True enough, you did. We still doubted, though. And yet – we hoped.” He reached out draw a finger lightly along her cheek, and she shivered. “Thank you.”

 

“Anytime,” she said, knowing that his simple gratitude was for far far more than her advice to give his family a chance. She, too, had given them a chance, and while it hadn't been easy, it had been, to her depthless astonishment, successful. Once, she had laughed to Vector that she was getting an odd habit of acquiring relations in the course of her travels across the galaxy: House Miurani of the Chiss, the Ton clan of the Voss, the Oroboro colony of the Killiks, and now, the human Hyllus family of Jurio. Each one dear to her in its own way, for her own reasons. “Anytime and always.”

 

She leaned forward then and kissed him, before he could speak more, because she wanted no part of chatter now, no matter how meaningful or heartfelt or cathartic it might be. She scooched closer, crawling into his lap as she embraced his lips in her own, her fingers sliding under his shirt, eager for contact with his skin, and the forgotten data pad with her report slid off the smooth duvet and landed on the carpet with a soft thump. He yielded to her, letting her kiss him as deeply as she wished, before reaching up to trace the curves of her form with sensitive fingers, reading how every fiber of her being cried out for his, and how his own nerves and sinews strained to respond.

 

He peeled the robe gently back from her shoulders, and she giggled into his hair – it was all well and good for him to be considerate with her clothing _now_ , when nearly everything else she had brought with her to wear had been broken, torn, or stained beyond wearing through one happenstance or another. Kait had not had time to mend the skirt he had damaged – stars, only yesterday that had been! How much had occurred in such a short span of hours!

 

But they had time now, and plenty of it, and Paha reached out to the bedside console to turn off the light that broke in on the soft hours of the night, a night that stretched long and quiet before them in the aftermath of a terrible and strenuous day. His fingers skirted along her ribs, around the bandage the young agent had placed over the blaster wound as it finished healing.

 

“How do you feel?” he murmured against the hollow of her throat.

 

“I feel –” She had been about to make a flippant answer, or perhaps a teasingly amorous one as she traced her hands over his bare thighs with the heat of his core warming her cerulean fingers, and at the last moment, she changed her reply. “Loved.”

 

“Mm,” he answered with an appreciative hum. “How fortunate. For that is exactly what you are.” His hands glided down her back and over her waist, and he pulled her hips against him; her aura flared with delight and anticipation, like sparks of mint-scented frost dancing across the air.

 

“What you are, and what you will be,” he repeated huskily, and she twitched, her breath catching in a gasp as he bowed his head to outline the tip of her breast with his tongue. “Forever.”

 

“Forever?” she purred playfully, her strong, slender fingers guiding him to the tangle of desire between her legs. “And now?”

 

Far down in his chest he made a low sound, a growl of equal parts satisfaction and eagerness for the promise of things to come as he eased forward, cocooning them together in an engulfing, fathomless feeling of devotion and yearning.

 

“ _Especially_ now.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Work has been a beast lately, and looks to be that way from now through Christmas (sad face), but I was able to take a few days off to enjoy the treat of going to New York City with my husband recently to celebrate our second wedding anniversary. Just before leaving, I learned of a special exhibit at the Pierpont Morgan Library and Museum on Madison Avenue, all devoted to Charlotte Brontë - if I were inclined to religion, and could worship at the altars of the literary greats, Charlotte would be among the foremost and highest elevated of my personal pantheon! They had her only professional portrait on loan from London's National Gallery, as well as the rudimentary portrait the 17-year-old Branwell Brontë painted of his three sisters from the Haworth Parsonage. AND! the Morgan Library was barely a block from the hotel we were staying at, so it was very easy to get to.
> 
> We also went to the Intrepid museum for their Star Trek 50th Anniversary exhibit and to see the Enterprise prototype space shuttle (Being big big big nerds, we went in costume, hahaha). The next day, I took my husband to the Metropolitan Museum of Art, which I've been to twice, but which he had never seen. He's an Egyptology buff, so we spent a long time in that, followed by arms and armor, and did a very very quick buzz through some of the 16th - 18th C European portraits. So, I figure was saw maybe 10% of the museum in a day.
> 
> Anyway, the train ride there enabled me to have some uninterrupted time to do some writing, which I divided between Clouds/Colors and Monster. I polished up the chapter today, and hopefully should finish the work off within the next week or two. On a related note, my husband is losing his job (today is his last day in fact), and is getting into ebook publishing as a new business venture. I have a sneaking suspicion that I will likely end up as a published author sometime in the semi-near future, which is both an exciting and intimidating concept!


	39. Peaces

Paha stepped lightly up the short staircase that led from the garden path to the back kitchen door, and pulled up short as she unexpectedly found Sessali standing quietly in the kitchen. They had had minimal conversation since the turbulence of the previous day, and Sessali seemed more reserved and withdrawn around Paha than ever. For a moment, Paha almost withdrew, thoroughly tempted to return to the leaf-lined walks where she had just left Vector welcoming the morning sun, but that felt too much like cowardice, and cowardice after yesterday's memorable displays was, in short, ridiculous.

 

Sessali eyed her son's wife with a patent wariness, this hesitant caution born of some inner alarm she had been unable to shake, no matter how quiet and compliant this novel influence over Vector had appeared to be. Truth be told, some spark of smug satisfaction at the rightness of her instincts kindled in her breast. Years of misunderstandings might have separated her from her son and first-born child, but she had still sensed the danger this woman presented to him. Had it not been for Legate – no, _Paha_ – what kind of a name was _Paha_ anyway? – Vector would not be traipsing about the dirty corners of the Empire and beyond, brushing shoulders with untold dangers –

 

Catching herself, Sessali gave a small twitch of her head, as though shaking away her uncharitable thoughts about her guest. Had it not been for Paha, she recalled firmly, Vector would have been lost to her among the Killiks of Alderaan, likely forever. Perhaps it had been the danger of those filthy edges of the galaxy that had given Vector the courage to finally come home. Perhaps some of that courage dwelt within her own untested frame as well; surely, not all of it had come from his congenial, planet-hopping warrior father. There must be something of herself in Vector; why could it not be that quiet, inner strength, the graceful stoicism in the face of trial, the durable core on which Paha so clearly relied? Could it not be that these were what she, his mother, had granted him? Dimly, she was aware that Legate – _Paha_ , she corrected herself again – had offered her a good morning.

 

Without directly answering, Sessali poured out tea with steady hands into two mugs and set one very deliberately on the counter before Paha. It was an authentically genuine act, a motion directed by something deeper than simple politeness, without, for once, being concerned with her hostess veneer. As Paha took up the cup and the peace offering she felt it represented, Sessali came to stand not exactly beside her, but near enough, with her gaze directed out the window to where Vector stood among his father's plants, his face raised to the warming dawn rays. Paha looked, too, and said nothing, sensing that Sessali was working through something even she herself did not fully understand.

 

“You love him,” Sessali murmured, but it was not a question.

 

Paha took a sip of the tea. “Yes,” she answered, as simple and as honest as Sessali's words.

 

“And he loves you,” Sessali said next.

 

“I do have that good fortune, yes,” Paha agreed again. It took Sessali a few moments to break the following silence.

 

“I said you were terrifying,” Sessali said, her eyes still riveted on Vector. “I owe you an apology for that, and an explanation.”

 

“I don't really think – ” Paha began uncomfortably, and shut her lips as Sessali made a dismissive gesture.

 

“It's not the violence or the fighting – I wed a military man! That's not a thing I could judge against. It's not, either, your... foreignness, although I think it may have come across as such.” That much, Paha realized, was true; had her dislike been rooted in the typical prejudices of the average Imperial human, it would have showed itself in all its obvious colors.

 

“It's only this – what I have just now said.” Sessali made a sort of helpless motion with her shoulders. “That he loves you. More than he ever did Anora, even when I take into account the Killiks. I didn't see it – I didn't _really_ see it – until I watched him follow you out the door so readily yesterday, and then, with what happened... when you came back, how quick he was to raise a weapon beside you. My peaceful son, the diplomat! Running into battle, with you! It was only then I understood. What he would do for you. What he would become for you.”

 

Seeing Paha again about to speak in the periphery of her vision, Sessali at last turned her face towards her daughter-in-law's, looking directly into the quiescent fires of those scarlet eyes, unreadable coals in the azure sea of her countenance. “And it was that which scared me,” Sessali confessed. “What truly frightened me – the power you have over him. With just a word, you could destroy him. How strange that my son should return only for me to see how much of him belongs to others!”

 

She tore her eyes from Paha's face, as though the sight pained her, and Paha, gripping her cooling brew with both hands, gently offered, “I could make all manner of protests and promises, but what would those mean? If I could be cavalier with the vow I made to Vector, then a promise to you would hold even less weight.”

 

“True,” Sessali observed, a touch of bitter humor in her voice. She shook her head a little, her sorrowful gaze burrowing down into the depths of her tea. “I suppose it is all no less than I deserve, given our history. All those things said in anger, and regretted often.”

 

“But no longer true, even if they at one time were, and he understands that they might not have been.  He _has_ forgiven you.  Even if you think you don't merit it - maybe especially if you think you don't. And if it is any consolation,” Paha continued, “what you describe - Vector holds the exact same power over me. Without him - I can't even say how different I would be!  What he has come to mean to me – what I have done because of him – what I _would_ do –”

 

“Then if he asked you to die, would you?” Sessali asked abruptly, her head jerking up to bring her piercing look again to Paha's face, as though searching for a hint of a lie. “For him?”

 

There was a moment in which the older woman found only those smoldering eyes boring back into her own; she had expected a flash of defiance, a flare of proud protestation, a smokescreen to deflect the question. What she saw instead she could not identify, but she knew she hadn't expected it, whatever it was. She could not know it was the imprint of an old and fearful memory, a prophetic dream that had haunted Paha waking and sleeping until Vector had broken its spell through a single, simple, valiant act.

 

“Sessali,” Paha said softly, “He didn't have to ask.”

 

\- - - -

 

With the efficiency that could be expected when it came to one of the gems of the Empire's coronet, teams were already hard at work at clearing away the debris from the violence and chaos of the day before, and preparing for immediate reconstruction. Fixer Twelve had matters well in hand, even managing the pompous local commander with a smooth and admittedly uncharacteristic aplomb, as Paha and Vector observed from a discrete distance.

 

“He was only too glad to remove himself from the responsibility of the decisions,” Twelve guffawed. He dug in his pocket, withdrawing something which he held out to Paha. “Your holo. I had a team clean the warehouse, and One-six-one held this bit back from the inventory log. Fast learner, that one; she'll likely go far.”

 

“Indeed she will,” Paha nodded, taking the familiar device. It was a common thing for a field agent to discard a holo, but as she was no longer an official field agent, she couldn't assume that it would be easy to get a replacement whenever she needed one.

 

As though reading her thoughts, Fixer Twelve said, “All the encryptions have been changed; you'll need new codes. I imagine someone will be in touch with those soon,” he added, deliberately vague. “Probably with some added congratulations, too.”

 

“No doubt,” Paha laughed. “Give my regards to Three. Keeper, also.”

 

“Will do. They thank you for the report, too.”

 

Paha and Vector strolled away, leaving Twelve and his teams to their work, gathering up the deactivated droids or fragments thereof, all to be taken to Intelligence for study, and, eventually, perhaps even service. Ironic, that in trying to destabilize the Empire, The Fund had handed it a ready-made army, rife with Star Cabal tech. It would not take long for Sith Intelligence to exploit what Paha had uncovered.

 

With no particular destination in mind, but a mutual, nebulous desire to seek out some natural peace reminiscent of what they had found on Xaastu, they meandered the streets that led them away from the heart of downtown, through the lakeside suburbs, and finally to a slender path that wound through the shrubs that flowered white and pink along the steep hillsides above the low waves that lapped the shore.

 

“We recall we used to come here, in our childhood,” Vector reminisced. “We learned to swim here, in that cove. It has always been a popular spot with teens, late at night.”

 

Paha's eyes danced with amusement. “Those statements, at face value, are utterly unrelated. Unless – you were ever so daring and disobedient as to sneak out here of a night?”

 

“We admit nothing,” Vector replied with an air of innocence.

 

“Mmm,” Paha observed skeptically. “The water looks chilly,”

 

“It's not very bad; you get used to it. You wouldn't have a problem,” Vector answered. An impish smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “We could throw you in, if you'd like to test it yourself.”

 

“In water that shallow? Stars above, you're trying to kill me.”

 

“Nonsense. We are quite certain you are able to survive a drop this short.”

 

“You'd have to catch me first,” Paha challenged with a laugh, promptly darting through a gap in the hedgerow and plunging down the slope, with Vector skidding rapidly along behind. He caught her as she stumbled over the fine, rounded stones of the shoreline and staggered inadvertently into the shallows, and gleefully ignored her protest that she was, after all, a wounded woman, silencing her with a kiss that whisked her breath away.

 

“You would run away from us so easily?” he asked, releasing his hold on her lips but not his hold on her body.

 

“Only when I'm sure you'll chase me,” she answered cheerfully. “Besides, that wasn't easy. My shoes are full of water.”

 

“The easiest way to take care of that,” Vector stated, scooping her up in his arms and sloshing towards dry land, “is simply to remove them.” He knelt beside her to slide her feet from their sodden sheathes.

 

“And your pants? I suppose it's my fault they're soaked.”

 

“Are you suggesting we remove them?”

 

“Only to lay them in the sun to dry,” Paha replied, with a fair approximation of artlessness, spoiled by the eruption of a naughty smirk.

 

Under the rays of the afternoon sun, the smooth, warm cobbles were soon the recipients of a number of articles of clothing, tossed aside with little notice as to whether they warranted a drying or not as the limbs they once adorned tangled and entwined, spurred on by a heady passion thrilling through their nerves and sinews. There could never be enough of this feeling, nor this expression of it, this microcosm of perfection in which all other concerns of the universe paled and faded, where there was nothing but themselves and their desire, the desire for a need fulfilled and a stronger desire to fulfill it for the other, and their voices raised together in a cry of victory when that driving goal had been achieved.

 

The cove held the cry like a chalice held water, and as the echo faded, Paha settled, breathing hard, against Vector, curling into the wreath of his arms beneath his sigh of satisfaction. Their cobblestone couch was not comfortable, but each other was so, at least for a little while.

 

“We think we will have bruises from this,” Vector winced after a moment.

 

“Mm,” Paha agreed drowsily, her eyes half closed. “Next time aught to be a tuft-tree forest.”

 

“There aren't any on Jurio,” Vector pointed out. “But we're sure there are the locations of some in the memory of the hive. We'll be sure to make a note of it.”

 

“Still,” Paha said after a long moment, during which was only the faint sound of the waves rolling along the shore, “all things considered, this hasn't been at all bad.”

 

Vector knew she wasn't referring to their lakeside tryst. His mind ran back through the past weeks: the fight and fear of yesterday, the discomfort and distress of the days prior, the anxiety sprung from so much family strife, now nearly all melted away, the hazardous shortcut across space and the dainty dance with Fa'athra on Tatooine, and before that, those weeks and weeks of magical days on Xaastu, the planet of their own.

 

“No, not at all,” he agreed softly. Two months ago, he would never have imagined being here, with Paha as alive as he, on his native planet, with his ties to his family restored and even strengthened, when he had thought them irreparably damaged. “No, beloved.  We are very happy.”

 

Paha raised herself on the warm cobbles just enough to kiss him gently, long and sweet on his parted lips.  Overhead, the sun, moving inexorably towards its couch in the west, cast rays of burning gold and dazzling vermilion over the clouds, arrayed in their finest hues of rose and mauve.  Such sunsets as these were not made on days of perfect blue clarity.  Only those clouds, squatting on the horizon of the sky, could paint such brilliance.

 

"Yes," Paha settled again on Vector's shoulder.  "We are."

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Thank you so much for your patience as I was getting these last couple of chapters posted :) In a way, I think I drag my heels a bit because I don't want to say good-bye to Paha and Vector, much as I like to let them have happy endings. 
> 
> I had been toying with adding one last little epilogue, re-meeting the rest of the crew on Vaiken, but I'm not sure I'd have enough meaningful material to make it worth writing. Knowing when to stop, after all, is a significant part of any story-telling, and it's something that more than one TV show could stand to learn. I think I am quite content with leaving my lovers here, untethered to ship, mission, or crew.
> 
> Anyway, Thank you again, again, and again, for reading, for liking, and for commenting! I am so glad people have been enjoying reading Vector and Paha's adventures together as much as I have enjoyed writing them. 
> 
> Best wishes and fresh fishes,  
> ~ Amicia


End file.
